Project Hell Hound
by ghostwriter1341
Summary: Lost, nameless, without a memory of her past life, the loose experiment of Millennium is back on the streets of Europe, looking for something, but isn't entirely sure of what it is. Hellsing is dropped into her lap and she hopes that they are the key to her memories. But it will be difficult with a psychotic vampire lingering over her shoulder.
1. Chapter 1

January 14, 1991

Leningrad, Russia

Commander Olaf Grendinski marched swiftly down the corridor, his heavy boots clanking against the industrial floors of the facility. He was in search of the head doctor, the big boss of this laboratory. The news was grim, very grim. Grendinski was well aware of the experiments taking place here.

The rest of Mother Russia and the whole world knew nothing about this particular laboratory. The American pigs knew nothing of the things Russia was capable of. Alas, their work was for naught. The news Greninski had to give to the man in charge was as cold as the winter wind blasting outside and it would cut like a knife. He had heard of great things coming out of this laboratory that they were in the process of taming some wild dog to do their bidding. Training her like a soldier. Too bad it would all go to waste.

Rounding a corner, he spotted a man with graying red hair, blue eyes bespectacled behind bent and worn frames, the Doctor Alexi Nikolayev.

Grendinski wasted no time with polite introductions. Walking up behind him, for the scientist had his back turned to him; he seemed busy looking over some papers on a clipboard. The general tapped the man on his shoulder.

As if startled, Alexi jumped back, almost jumping into the air, clutching his chest. His clipboard fell with a clatter. For a Russian, he was easily startled.

Looking up and down at the general's uniform, the scientist almost breathed a sigh of relief.

"General, I wasn't expecting you until tomorrow."

"I took a faster route to get here. There is some information regarding your funding that made me find a reason to arrive sooner than scheduled."

Nikolayev went silent as the general retrieved his clipboard from the floor.

"The Soviet Union can no longer provide you with funding required to keep this facility up and running." Grendinski handed the clipboard back.

Naturally, Nikolayev was stunned, dismayed even. It took several minutes before the news to register.

"B-but why? We were making such progress!"

He clapped a hand on the man's shoulder.

"The Soviet Union is about to fall apart. It is a matter of a few months before walls come crumbling down. Thanks to that disaster in Afghanistan, the state has become weak and our leader speaks of stepping down from his position. The government can no longer fund your facility. As of tomorrow you are cut off. We cannot help you."

"B-but we were so close!" Nikolayev exclaimed, his anger and frustration bouncing from one wall to the other and down the corridor until it completely died. "What am I supposed to do with her now?"

Grendinski shrugged.

"If you do not have means of operating this facility on your own, you may have to put her down."

At this, Nikolayev turned red.

"Put her down. Put her down! This is no common mutt we've plucked off the street, comrade! Project Hell-Hound is not some dog we've been training for the circus. How can you look me in the eye and tell me to kill my life's work?"

Agitated by Nikolayev's lack respect for the uniform, Grendinski stood straight and broadened his shoulders. Staring down at the comparatively tiny man, who appeared to have not eaten a proper meal in days, the general replied coldly.

"What are you getting upset about? It is only a dog, nothing more. Unless you've managed to teach it to speak Russian or survive a trip to the moon and back, I fail to see what is so special about your project. I've heard rumors, and admittedly I was interested in your work here, but I have yet to see anything impressive. Unless you show me this...Project Hell-Hound...as you call it, you cannot easily sway me."

Nikolayev grinned.

"Your superiors did not tell you the truth about Project Hell-Hound, did they, General?"

For a moment, he thought that the scientist standing before him had gone insane. Perhaps it was time for him to retire. Heaven knew, if such a place existed, that the doctor was long over-do. The lenses in his frames were cracked in one corner. He had a haunch in his shoulders and despite being only forty years old, his hair was turning gray on the spot. Grendinski imagined that a single hair turned gray just by looking at it for too long.

"It's just a dog isn't? Albeit, a special dog, but a dog nevertheless?"

Nikolayev shook his head.

"Allow me to show you, General, what we've been working on these long years." The doctor became as giddy as a young school boy.

They passed together through many corridors and doorways. After passing through a particular hallway, doors blocked their passage. Nikolayev produced a key from his wrinkled lab coat and unlocked it. They came upon another door and another, each one the doctor unlocked with his all-powerful skeleton key. They entered a dark hallway which had only one room.

Grendinski saw in the dim light a metal door. It was the only other door besides the ones Nikolayev unlocked that was made of metal. But this door, however, looked to be made of stronger sturdier stuff than the other three they passed. It was bolted shut from the outside with many locks held the door closed and secure. What he didn't understand was why they needed so many locks to keep a single dog jailed up. Even if the dog was a biter, there was no need for so many of them. That's what tranquilizers were for. Next to the door, on the left hand side, he noticed something amiss with the wall. Several feet from the ground to the ceiling and a few more feet length-wise the material was different from the rest of the walls in that hallway. The walls were made of iron and steel. That section appeared as if they had to weld new material in the older ones place.

"What happened here?" Grendinski indicated to the wall on the door's left hand side.

"That is where the observation window used to be. She burst through the glass in an escape attempt. She sent fifteen comrades to an early grave, but we managed to surround her and catch her off guard before she could leave the facility."

The general was the one who was stunned now.

"A dog did this," he said, gaping at the mismatched metal like it was a pieced up quilt.

"You'll find, General," Nikolayev chuckled, "that this is no ordinary dog. In fact, she's a dog at all, well, not entirely."

He was standing directly in front of the door, his hand over movable panel. Grendinski, curious, went forward. Nikolayev slid the viewing panel open, allowing Grendinski to get an eye full of Project Hell-Hound.

Project Hell-Hound was a girl, a human girl. Perhaps not even human. She sat with her back against the furthest wall. Yellow light bulbs hanging high above her in the ceiling cast an eerie, animal glow about her. Or it could have been the girl herself who was producing the caged tiger effect. She sat still as a rock, neither moving or flinching. Her eyes were staring back at him, rage in her eyes. She blinked and he thought her eyes turned red.

"What is the meaning of this?" Grendinski was still trying to process of who and what the girl was. "I thought you said Project Hell-Hound was a dog."

"She is, partially."

"A werewolf?" The general sounded nothing but incredulous.

"No, no, no, a were-dog. Allow me to give you a brief history of Project Hell-Hound." The doctor spoke with glee as if he had been waiting a long time to deliver his story. "Once upon a time, a little Austrian boy moved to Germany, where he in fought in a great war. He was imprisoned, and while waiting for his release he wrote a book. When he grew up, he became the leader of a miserable country and he invaded Poland, France and much of Eastern Europe. Hitler, I mean, the Austrian man had a great interest in the occult. He had a secret group of scientists and soldiers work on creating the ultimate army, one that can never die, never be defeated."

"But he lost the war he dragged his country in, and put a bullet through his brain. His armies were disbanded, but one little experiment got away. What was this experiment you ask? A hybrid, a weak, powerless, fragile human transformed into a killing machine. 50 percent were-dog, 47 percent vampire, an unholy beast formed by the blood of two monstrous households! A near-perfect monster to wreak havoc on one's enemies."

"Near perfect?" Grendinski wasn't sure if he wanted to stick around much longer. He didn't know if it was Nikolayev's crazy talk or the girl's intense stare. Both worried him deeply.

"She still retains three percent of her human nature. She is still capable of higher thought processes. Her intelligence is not to be underestimated. She does not have a dog's aversion to chocolate. She hunts like a true beast; sadly, her humanity still feels remorse and her vampire DNA makes her sleepy in daylight hours, which explains why I have _these_." He lifted up his glasses to reveal dark circles beneath his eyes. "Her unnatural sleep pattern makes it difficult for a normal person to observe her properly. I don't like leaving my assistants and lab techs alone with her. I feel better when I'm here, just to keep her in line."

"How exactly do you _keep her_ _in line_?"

"Bad dog."

Grendinski gave Nikolayev a look, but then turned towards the viewing panel. A horrible cry echoed from within the chamber. It didn't stop until the whole of the chamber and hallway were filled with the shrieking and crying of one being tormented. Grendinski looked, his ears covered with his hands, and found the girl sprawled on the floor, sparks of electricity flying around her and coursing through her body. Her flaming red hair formed a halo about her head as she writhed. In the sparks of the electricity, Grendinski was able to see the black collar around her neck.

"A voice activated electric shock collar," Nikolayev saw the curious look Grendinski was making. "If we are not satisfied with her behavior, the code word activates the shock collar. It lasts for only two minutes, but it delivers a powerful shock and she instantly becomes a good and docile lap-dog."

"I see." Was the only Grendinski could think to say.

The men watched for the next minute the gruesome torture. When it was finally over, the girl was huffing and panting. She moved away from the shadows where Grendinski was able to see her claw like hands. Her nails were sharpened to a point, dirt, or possibly blood, coated the underside of her nails. Rolling over on her side, her long mess of hair completely covering her face, her throat uttered an inhuman, guttural snarl. Grendinski saw one of her hands reach up in front of her and dig her nails into the floor. Looking around, he saw many, thousands of similar claw marks etched into the walls and floors. She raised her head; she was so close now Grendinski could see that she had the appearance of a teenage girl. Her black eyes glared at them, but that was all she was capable of doing. The collar around her neck prevented from doing anything more than that. Red brows were furrowed in a look of hatred, making her appear more bestial in the better light. Her red lips were parted in a wolf-like snarl. She sneered, revealing her sharp white teeth. Except, these were not normal teeth at all. They were sharp silver fangs protruding from her gums that would always be present in her smile, if she ever found a reason to.

"May I get a closer look?"

"I don't know if that is such a good idea, General. She is still very dangerous."

"You have the shock collar, don't you?"

"Yes, but—"

Grendinski ignored the doctor's warning.

"I wish to see your experiment up close and personal. If I decide that I like what I see, perhaps I can find a way to keep your operations running."

Greedy, any thoughts concerning the possible repercussions went to the back of Nikolayev's mind. He unlocked the door without any hesitation. The general went in. The door was shut and locked behind him.

Nikolayev was surprised that the general was not disgusted by the smell of dried blood, rotten meat, and body odor that permeated Project Hell-Hound's cage. He supposed that as a military man, Grendinski was used to the worst conditions the battlefield might subject him to. The stench didn't seem to bother him not one bit. The general ignored the stench that Nikolayev had been used to over the past several years. Grendinski also seemed to ignore the pile of bones sitting in the opposite corner of the room.

Project Hell-Hound continued to lay on her stomach even as Grendinski's boots made their way towards her. His gloved hand lifted up her chin so that she was forced to look him in the eye. With his other hand, he pried open her mouth, inspecting her teeth, presumably. He pulled at her K-9s as if checking if they were loose or fake.

Next he checked her hands, fingers running over her claws. Holding them up to light, Grendinski became fixated with the grim and gore coating the underside of her nails. Her fingers reacted to his touch by flexing at the knuckles. But she did nothing more than this. Her black eyes were staring out at the door from which Nikolayev was able to oversee what was happening.

Grendinski stood up.

"Is she able to have _puppies,_" Grendinski joked.

The girl at his feet growled.

"We haven't been concerned with reproduction. We have mostly been training her. Reproduction hasn't been at the top of our list, but it is a possibility. She is still a virgin, though."

"And how old is she?"

"She was picked up in Poland shortly after the war, when we were returning home. That was 1945. She was sixteen; without her vampire blood, she would be an old woman now."

"I see," Grendinski repeated. "Doctor, why don't you take a break for a while. I want to ask her a few questions."

"General, that would not be wise. I must insist—"

Grendinski turned on his heels and raised his voice.

"Are you disrespecting your commanding officer, Nikolayev? Need I remind you that I have the power to save or destroy your facility? Your men would be dispersed and jobless. You would have nothing to go forward with in your career. Your laboratory would be demolished and all evidence of your experiments destroyed, including Project Hell-Hound. If I tell you to jump, you say how high. If I tell you to leave your post and go find something else to do, then you go off. I want to speak with her, privately. So march or I will contact my superiors and have them send a platoon to destroy everything on sight. Am I clear, doctor?"

Nikolayev lost his argument. There was no point in making a fuss with the general now. It was useless. Nervous, but relenting, he shut the viewing panel closed. His footsteps began to walk away until they were heard of no more.

Grendinski turned again, casting a hungry gaze at the girl who was still sitting on the floor.

"Now, little one, we have the whole place to ourselves." Stooping low to meet her face to face. "How about you tell me your name. You may call me Vladimir. Vladimir Grendinski."

He offered his hand, but she stared coldly at him. Realizing that he would not gain anything this way, he pulled back his hand.

"Do you know how long you have been in here? Where were you were born? Are you Polish? Speak, girl, I know you have a tongue. Or do I have to use the doctor's methods to get you to speak. Be a good girl and tell me your name."

The girl was silent for a long while. Several minutes passed and the general was beginning to lose his patience.

"I had a name once, but I've lost it. I can't tell you how many years they've locked me up in here because I can't remember. I can't remember anything. The doctor tells me that I was born before World War II, but I don't know when that was or what it was. I have no memory. Can you tell me who I am?"

Her Russian was broken. She wasn't a native speaker. Grendinski assumed that she learned it during her stay her. When he listened closely, he could hear the vague accent. Belgian, French maybe? The way she spoke almost made him forget that she wasn't human. Her demeanor changed entirely. Her body was still locked in a defensive position, but she sounded demure, sweet even.

"I can't answer that, little one. I can, however, help you find the answers."

Her eyes sparkled with hope.

"I ask for a favor then," he cupped his hand under her chin.

In a second his lips were on hers, forcing his tongue into her mouth. He dragged her all the way to the small bed, keeping her underneath him. Keeping her down there was no easy task either. Her nails scratched at his uniform, tearing in some places while remaining useless. Two words were all he needed to disarm her. His rough hands pinned her wrists above her head while his free hand ran up the side of her leg. She wore nothing but a set of gray scrubs. The thin cloth being his only barrier.

The girl didn't cry or beg. Her black eyes glared at him, boring up at him like she was trying to burn a hole through his brain.

Grendinski chuckled.

"There's nothing really you can do for yourself, _sputnik._ All I have to do is say two words and you're under my control. I've tried keeping my wife, but all she does is nag. It's so hard to find a good-looking woman who doesn't give you lip, especially in Russia. I won't feel bad afterwards because you're not really sixteen. You're inhuman. A monster. What difference would it make to anyone anyhow? Don't worry, little one, I'll be sure to make you feel good too. This is your first time, so I'll try to be gentle. No need to rush."

He leaned in for another kiss only to find blood trickling down his mouth. The only way he knew that was the blood trickled from his mouth and splattered against her cheek. Looking down, her clawed hand was buried deep in his abdomen. With supernatural strength, she pushed him back, landing on top of him; her hand still deep in his stomach. She swayed her hips as she straddled him, which would have felt so much better if her hand was clutching his lower intestines.

"Were you hoping to _penetrate_ me, General? Were you hoping to have me writhing underneath you? To be the first to be inside of me? I'm afraid that you're mistaken. But it's I who has penetrated you. I'm going to eat you now. You can die slowly as I eat them like sausage links. And then I'll move on to the rest of the facility, saving the good doctor for last. Because guess what?"

Her free hand went to her neck. Working dexterously, her claws started to rip at the collar. Grendinski watched with horrified eyes as the collar began stretching out of shape. She stretched it and stretched it until the thing finally snapped betwixt two fingers. She dangled the broken piece of leather in front of his eyes. The small black box which was the electronics of the collar fizzed and popped as its circuits were short-circuited. She taunted him with it, making sure he knew what was going to happen when she was finished with him.

"This is no longer a threat to me." Tossing it with the pile of bones he just now noticed, she turned her attention back to him. "You'll have to excuse me, General. But I'm going to be in a rush and I'm famished. I'm a carnivore with a big appetite and yet they feed me the bare minimum. So that's get started."

Her other hand dove into his stomach. Indeed Grendinski was forced to watch as she munched down on his innards like meat. As black fog covered his eyes, the last vision he was her red painted mouth grinning.


	2. Chapter 2

London, England

Top Secret Military facility near Westminster Abbey

April 3, 1991

The newly installed Sir Integra marched her way through the halls, heading directly for the meeting room, aka the Round Table. Shoulders back, spine straight, chin forward, no slouching. The Knights of the Protestant were shrewd fellows. All men, they thought they could intimidate her so easily. Under their scrutinizing gaze and their vain attempts to force her to back down were all for naught. They failed because of two reasons. One, they had no idea who they were dealing with, and two, she had a pet vampire under her command. Would she ever use him to remove them from office? Of course not, though the idea was tempting.

When she entered the chamber, all eyes fell on her. Barely into her teenage years, Integra was _the_ youngest person in the room. A foreigner sat nervously in a chair, twisting his red hat in his lap. She could he was foreign because of the accent he used when a butler offered to fetch some water for him, which he eagerly accepted. He was Russian by the sound of it.

"Ah," one of the lords rose slightly from his seat, "our last member has come to join us."

"You mean the little girl?" The Russian didn't sound so certain anymore.

He watched her take her seat, incredulous and concerned.

"What seems to be the problem? I didn't realize that Soviet Russia was in such dire need that they come crawling to Britain." Integra had always had a sharp tongue when she felt the mood for it. Being clever as she was, she could use it with lethal accuracy, but was aware of certain circumstances in which to use it.

The Russian didn't seem to mind or notice. It seemed that he was far too busy wringing the life out of his felt beret.

"Yes, you have us all very curious as to who you need our help. Unless, you have a problem that falls under our jurisdiction, we cannot help you," said another lord down at the other end of the conference table.

Now that he was under pressure, the Russian stopped twisting his hat if only to pull at his collar like it bothered him. He had the face of a man in an interrogation. The light over him seemed to define every detail of his features. From his rugged, stubbled chin to his wrinkled forehead. He was middle-aged, and not getting any younger. Dark shadows haloed around his gray-colored eyes. His cheeks appeared sunken. He slumped forward in his chair, hands clasped together. His lips moved fast despite his nervous and shaken demeanor. He remained like this for at least one minute before he brought his head back up again from prayer. As if his prayers worked like some magic spell, the Russian suddenly became more confident. Clearing his throat, he paused to think first and then opened his mouth to speak.

"Had this been a few years ago, my superiors would have never thought to ask the British for assistance. We are desperate now. You are the best at vat you do. There is problem in Mother Russia. Three months ago, search party goes looking for General Vladimir Grendinski. He had been sent to inspect laboratory in Leningrad. What they found...was this."

A black screen flickered on. Someone in the vast conference room clicked a remote control and images, frightful, gory images flashed on the screen. Bodies strewn around. Organs thrown across floors and walls like chew toys. Blood was everywhere and bodies were in advanced stages of decomposition. No doubt that Russia's freezing winters saved the bodies from rotting faster.

"These are images of said laboratory. When his headquarters received no news from general, they sent group of men in search him. They returned to base with these pictures. Since then bodies have been removed from site and laboratory destroyed." The Russian explained.

"Yes, and what does this have to do with Her Majesty's Knights?"

The Russian sighed heavily.

"This was no human. All victims have been..._eaten_."

He had their attention.

"What was the purpose of this laboratory? What were they working on?" Sir Integra asked.

"Many files were destroyed before investigation. There is but one document that gave clues to what they were working on. Is called Project Hell-Hound. A hybrid of some sort." He answered.

"What sort of hybrid? " The idea sounded less ludicrous in her head.

The Russian shook his head.

"We are not entirely sure ourselves. The one file that we managed to find is in poor condition as it is. There is only the name and that it is some kind of hybrid. We have reason to believe that it is part human."

Faces went pale as color was drained from each man, and woman.

"This is what comes of defying God. Blasphemous."

"We cannot find creature, which is why I was sent to ask for your aid. We do not have such thing as Order of Protestant Knights. The Orthodox Church is not as organized as Church of England, and because of Stalin, we never will. There have been no reported attacks, but we cannot wait for monster to strike again. Will you help us?"

The Order didn't need much time to decide upon their answer. The photographic evidence they needed to make a decision regarding the safety of humanity was staring them in the face, red as blood, decaying, gruesome. If the beast ever left Russia, who knows what sort of bloodshed would ensue. The gory scene would be repeated elsewhere. Lives were at stake.

Not to mention this was a political move as well. To be the first Christians to reenter Russia since the beginning of the Soviet-Communist regime. They'd be one step ahead of the Vatican and show prominence over the Orthodox Church in taking care of their little _problem _for them. By showing the Russians what the Church of England can do, it might convert followers from the Orthodox. In the battle for souls, the Orthodox Church was the middle child, older than the Protestants but younger than Catholics. They never really had much of a force when battling the forces of darkness. Their soldiers were weak, untrained, and often over-confident. The number of Orthodox soldiers in Russia shrank during Stalin's reign, both out of fear and some abandoned Christianity all together. Now, to have those same people come begging for help was the cherry on top.

"We cannot have this thing running loose. No more lives will be snuffed out by the beast's jaws."

The Russian breathed a sigh of relief.

"On behalf of my comrades and my country, I humbly thank you."

The lords turned to Integra.

"We leave the matter in your hands, _Sir _Integra."

She maintained a cool exterior, but she swallowed hard enough for the whole room to hear.

* * *

"What do you think, Walter? Do you think I'm up to the challenge?"

"Sir Integra, may I be honest?"

"You may speak freely."

They continued their conversation as they walked down Westminster Abbey. Light pouring in through the stained glass painted the floors in rainbows of colors.

"In my honest opinion, sir, you are not quite ready for such an endeavor. That is not to speak against your skills and talents. You take after your father, may he rest in peace, in those aspects."

"Thank you, Walter."

They were half way down the aisle, quickly approaching the altar.

"You're very welcome." He said. "It has been only been two years since you inherited your father's title and the Hellsing Organization. I would have suggested to the council to wait for another few years before handing you more responsibilities, but I am in no position to do such a thing. It is not my place. But these are the circumstances that we must deal with. Do I believe that you are capable? Yes, but I would have liked for you to be a bit older before such a potentially dangerous mission. This isn't a vampire we are dealing with. This is an entirely different kind of beast, a literal man-eater."

They stood directly in front of the altar, the crucifix looking pitifully down at them both.

"Then it is a good thing we have a monster-eater on our side." Chuckled Integra. "Because in the name of God, I will not let that thing live for much longer."

Moscow, Russia

A lowly flat in the downtown district

April 5, 1991

Black eyes were fixed on the falling snow. It was barely April and snow was still falling. They said this weather wasn't going to last very much longer. This was probably the last snow any of them would see until the following winter. The night sky looked like heaven showering down tiny angels. There was so much she loved about falling snow. She loved the feel of its icy touch against her skin. She loved how it fell quietly, softly brushing against her cheeks. She loved the sensation of the snow melting and turning to water against her warm skin. Above all, she loved the pure color of snow, how it blanketed everything in a virtuous sheet and leaving nothing but a stark white baptismal gown on the world. It was like the world was given a new life. A red lock of her hair obscured her marvelous view. She moved it out of her eyes. It was obvious that she was obsessed with falling snow. She couldn't tell them why.

"Anastasia, won't you come in now? You'll catch your death of the cold standing out there." A woman in a woolen jacket and headscarf beckoned from the doorway.

Her body was silhouetted on the ground by the light of the warm glow flowing from inside the flat. The woman put her hands on her hips and tapped her foot impatiently for the girl to come inside. She noticed how Mrs. Slovinov shiver slightly in the cold, but the woman would never let it be known that it bothered her. On the outside, Mrs. Slovinov was tough as nails. On the inside, she was soft as a new born kitten.

"Coming, ma'am," her Russian wasn't as broken as a few months ago. She was improving. A native speaker could hardly notice that it wasn't her first language.

Mrs. Slovinov dusted Anastasia's coat, but the drifting snow had already melted. The door was locked and bolted behind her. As she wiped her feet on the welcome mat, Mrs. Slovinov continued to make a fuss over her, which she bravely and somewhat apologetically bore with.

"It's like you've never seen falling snow before girl," she helped Anastasia out of the hand-me-down coat, and then hanging it on the rack by the door.

Mr. Slovinov looked up from his paper.

"Did you find a job today?"

Anastasia nodded. "The restaurant down the street agreed to let me on as a waitress as long as I try harder to improve my Russian. If I do well, they'll let me stay for as long as I want."

"And how are your memories?" Mr. Slovinov gave her a sympathetic glance.

Anastasia shook her head, sighing. "Not going as well as my job search. If I could find just one hint, it might lead to a memory. But who am I kidding? Clues just don't fall out of the sky." She started for the short flight upstairs.

"Cheer up, sweetie. Who knows what tomorrow may bring?" Mrs. Slovinov did her best to put the girl in better spirits.

She kicked off her wet shoes she had been walking around in the slosh-covered sidewalks. Dumping them with the childrens' shoes, she noticed that she only added to the mountain. Despite being tired and frustrated, Anastasia bent over and picked up the shoes and boots one pair at a time. She wasn't satisfied until they were straightened out, lining the wall next to the bedroom door. Her hands pried open the door carefully. In the shadowy room, she could see the three kids tucked away snugly on their mattress. Her own little corner, though her sleeping place was nothing more than a sleeping bag and a cushion taken from the couch, it may as well have been a queen sized bed with 600 thread count sheets. She never been so thankful to see it, but first she had to get out of her day clothes and into ones more appropriate for sleep.

Tip-toeing inside, Anastasia crept towards the brown containing all of her earthly possessions. Her nightclothes belonged to Mr. Slovinov's now deceased mother. It was too big for his wife because his mother was a heavy-set woman. On Anastasia, it was even bigger. The nightgown had been taken in, but it still hung on her shoulders like a potato sack. At least it wasn't falling off of her body like it did when she first tried it on. The Slovinov's didn't have lot of money, yet they were willing to take in a complete stranger. They were very kind, more kind than Anastasia ever deserved.

Anastasia, that wasn't even her real name. It was the name the laboratory gave her when they were making up a cover story in case the Soviet Union did dissolve and people asked questions, at least that was plan A. Plan B was to eradicate her existence. If she had failed General Grendinski's inspection, that would have been her fate. Her fake past was complete with a fake birth certificate, passport, and I.D. They made it so that she had been deported from the Americas after her parents, who were illegal immigrants, died in a car crash. That quickly silenced any questions why her Russian was not on par with native speakers.

She flipped the bathroom light on and shut the door behind her. Her clothes were deposited into the hamper for the morning wash, which she would have to do in the morning before going to her first day of work. When she changed into her nightgown, she faced herself in the mirror.

She wasn't sure why she hated what she saw in the mirror every morning and night. It was becoming a masochistic ritual with her. Every day she would wake up, and stare at her reflection, and the move on to the day's chores. She swore to the Slovinov's that she would earn her keep. At the end of the day, she would repeat, staring at her reflection as if she had been doing it all through the day.

Her eyes were like shadows, empty black shadows. Some days, she wondered if her eyes could swallow her up. They were as deep and abysmal as any black hole. The color of her lips were pink from the cold. Her teeth were not as sharp as they used to be. Adaptation forced her to learn how to reel her fangs back enough to appear normal. She figured that not everyone's teeth were not perfectly straight and hardly anyone would notice the set of fangs on her lower jaw. The only thing that stood out was her flaming red hair, bright like the Soviet flag. Now everything in Russia was red.

Walking down the streets, while running errands for the family, she had noticed the young men staring. Shivers would crawl across her skin and the hair on the back of her neck would stand on end. The look in their eyes reminded her of that putrid general, how his mind was focused only on bedding her. And they called her a dog? The moment he saw her through the viewing panel, he had a one track mind. She read his mind, a power the good doctor was not aware of.

None of that helped her. Controlling herself was easier now that her appetite for revenge had been sated. Granted every now and then she would go out and steal raw steak in order to keep herself in check, but it was worth it. Surrounding her on all sides were humans. Warm-blooded humans who would have tasted very nice if she allowed her inner beast to feast as it desired.

_I am a sentient being. I will not be reduced to a depraved animal, _was her mantra.

And worked. So why did she still feel so disgusted with herself?

Perhaps she was disgusted with herself because of the mass murder she committed in Leningrad? Who was she to live and work among humans when she made a slaughter of them?

But those weren't innocent humans. They tortured her, beat her, took away her memories, and most importantly, they stole her identity from her. They referred to her as Project Hell-Hound, dog, bitch, she, and _it_. The last one hurt the most. Not to mention, the doctor was stupid enough to leaver her alone with the general, a mistake he would never make again.

Given the circumstances, who could honestly blame her? They were planning to use her against other humans. Why shouldn't it have been her to pass down the justice she and they deserved?

No, that couldn't be it.

A yawn escaped from her. She left the bathroom, turning out the light on her way out, and staggered to the bedroom. She fell face first into her pillow with a resounding _thump. _Her hands pawed at the cushion, careful not to puncture it with her nails. Her eyes adjusted immediately to the darkness. Her nails grew and grew without her command. Early in the morning she'd have to clip them again, just as she did every day. Mrs. Slovinov suspected that she had been held prisoner somewhere, so the woman kept quiet about the length of her nails when they first met. Watching her nails grow made Anastasia wonder if any part of her remained human. The doctor did say that a small portion of her genetics were human. A whopping three percent! Being around them all day seemed to be both a blessing and a curse. They made her feel a little less than a freak.

* * *

Flashback

Dresden, Germany

1944

_The air wreaked to high heaven of blood, sweat, and gunpowder. Bodies of both Allies and Axis powers were strewn over the battlefield. High above the ground, dotting the darkening skies, buzzed fighter planes, British and American support to their brothers down below. _

_A white suit drifted back and forth amid the rubble. It disappeared into nothingness and then reappeared out of nowhere. If anyone was alive to see, they would have thought their eyes were playing tricks on them. They also would have thought they saw a girl running around amid the devastation. Red eyes pierced the shadows of her bangs. Wind whipped and swirled her black locks behind her in a dark, almost frightening halo. Her shadow in the flames of burning debris didn't even resemble her physical body. It was too tall and the shadow's shoulders were too broad. She wore a grin, a sadistic grin, a maniacal grin, a grin that only the devil would wear. Like the smell of war and blood-shed were a few of her favorite things. She thought it nothing trampling underfoot the head of a dead Nazi._

_Gun-shots pierced the air. It was like thunder and was louder than even the aerial support high above them. _

_It was all just an illusion actually. That one little girl had a big secret, for she wasn't really a girl, but a 500 year old vampire, a male vampire._

_Then she smelled them. His enemies, the ones she was looking for. Hitler's secret battalion. He went_

_towards the sound of bullets ripping through the air, following the smell of his targets. _

_But something else clung in the air. The sense of desperation. _

_Was it from the soldiers on the losing side?_

_No, this was a different kind of desperation, a desperation hinted with the taste of revenge, hatred, and violence. He was not unfamiliar with these kind of emotion. It was the kind of desperation a soldier who lived to see the death of his enemies, even if the odds were not in his favor. Perhaps one of the Allied forces were getting the wrong end of a gun muzzle? _

_That still wasn't it. _

_He kept going towards the sound of gunfire. Rounding a corner, he was just in time to see a woman with red hair be mowed down by a barrage of gun fire. It didn't shock him to see an innocent civilian slain in the streets. It was probably her own fault for stepping into the battlefield and not expect to see a bullet coming towards her. The bullets ripped through her like nails through paper. Her blood went everywhere. Her clothes were stained red. Her body sprayed and gushed forth blood until it seemed that her whole body was being enveloped in her hair. The ground at her feet was stained red. She stood for barely a second after the onslaught before nature and gravity took their course. Her knees fell first, and then the rest of her torn-up torso followed suit._

"_Humph," he whispered, a grin still marring her face in a twisted look of amusement, "You should have fled the city while you still had the chance."_

_His targets were hiding behind tanks and over-turned vehicles, heavy guns loaded and ready to fire. They did not see him yet. They wouldn't hesitate to shoot down a little girl, not after shooting a female civilian. Alucard would see to it that she at least received some kind of decent burial since she proved to be an excellent distraction._

"_Your sacrifice will not go in vain." He was about to take them down in one blow when something caught his eye._

_The body was...twitching. There was no way that it would be able to do that after that many bullets. At least a dozen were driven straight through her spinal cord and a few more through her skull. The proof was her brain matter splattered all over the ground around her. Her arms were the first regain full usage. She propped herself up, shaking but she was able to do it. When she stood again, she moved with the grace of a damaged rag doll. Blood seeped from every hole, and yet she stood. Like a ghost or living dead._

_Alucard, however, didn't find the tell-tale odor that ghouls produced. She smelled _different.

_Then she spoke._

_Her tongue was not English nor American, not even German. She was French._

"Vous venez de perdre vos balles, les porcs. Je ne pardonne pour ce que vous avez fait pour mon pays, ma famille, moi. Vous voulez creer un monstre. Eh bien, je suis la!"*

_Even though her vision was blurred by the river of blood seeping down her face and into her eyes, she charged forward. The Nazis sprung into action firing their pistols, but they really were out of bullets for their precious machine guns. They may have been too trigger happy. _

_Her hands, dripping in her own blood, extended into fearsome claws. Soon the blood of her victims mingled with hers on her arms as she swung, swiped, and tore through flesh, a ravenous beast that was fed by the screams of the dying and carnage. The group of eight men were cut down to three in a matter of seconds. Under a minute there remained two. She saved her claws in favor of her fangs, which were dazzling white against the darkness. However, they weren't white for very long. If there was something shorter than a second, that was the amount of time between seeing her fangs white before they were dyed crimson. _

_Panicked, the soldiers continued firing their pistols until the deafening clicks of emptied rounds were the last things they wanted to hear. Even if bullets fell from the sky, it wouldn't have made a difference. She didn't even try to dodge the pistols this time. She let them put more holes in her as if to say, _Look how at how many times you've shot me and I still won't go down. _Her jaw unhinged like a snake, threatening to devour them whole. Instead, she chomped down on the first man nearest her. Arterial spray went everywhere._

_Alucard stood back and watched the show. Now he was intrigued. This girl, no, this _woman_ was a flawless killer, a ravening feeding machine, not unlike himself. He wondered what had the Nazis done to provoke such wrath. She mentioned her country and her family and she spoke in French. They did not do so well in this war. He pictured that the French would become the butt of every political and war-related joke in years to come. She implied that they turned her into a monster. Now _that _was interesting._

_Not a human. Not a ghoul. Not a vampire nor a were-wolf. Whatever she was, whatever the Nazis intended in creating, they succeeded. She was a resounding success if their goal was carnage beyond all imagination._

_By the time the fight was over, Alucard was making his way to the corpses strewn on the street. She had seemingly disappeared, except not quite. He found her sitting on her haunches, bent over one of her victims. It seemed she was busy eating her dinner, his stomach. Sensing him, she stopped in the middle of her meal, mouth slick with red gore. She turned to him. He half-expected a more hostile appearance, like that of a hungry dog being disturbed during his meal, but she elicited not even a growl. Licking her lips, she went back to the corpse. If such a thing existed, she would be described as a polite cannibal. _

_She didn't make any revolting noise, not so as smacking of her lips, neither did she shovel the gruesome gourmet into her mouth with the voracity of a starving man. Occasionally, she slurped, but quickly pardoned herself._

"_Who do you think you're going to impress with your table manners as you devour a human being." He snickered._

_He was actually enjoying himself watching her _eat_ a human. His orders were to protect humanity from his freakish ilk but here he was standing audience to a cannibalistic Joan of Arc eating a dead man's innards. It was beautiful thing to see. He liked how blood and the color of blood dripped from the top of her head to the soles of her T-strap shoes. She was red all over. _

_Her teeth dove right into a chunk of his liver her claws ripped out. Alucard was nearly delirious as he watched her chow down and finally, swallow the visceral organ with a satisfying gulp. She turned her black eyes to him again._

"_My mother raised a lady, not a savage."_


	3. Chapter 3

*Translation from previous chapter: "You've just wasted your bullets, swine. I shall not forgive you for what you have done to my country, my family, me. You wanted to create a monster. Well, here I am!"

* * *

Somewhere above Moscow, Russia

April 6

Integra looked out her window down below at the Russian landscape far down below. The earth was gray. The buildings were gray. Everything was gray. Their revolution was supposed to liberate the people. This is what became of a nation that abandoned God and venerated a creature. Man is mortal. Stalin was a man. Therefore, Stalin was mortal, and yet he forced the Russian people to obey his every command. They were better off under the Czarist rule.

Walter approached her seat. She turned to acknowledge him, but more than happy to get a look at something with a little more color than the view outside her window, even if Walter's uniform was black and white.

"We'll be landing in an hour, sir. Our contacts have agreed to host us in one of their estates until the matter of catching the beast is finished."

"Speaking of contacts, where is our Russian friend? I haven't seen him since we left London."

"He is on a different plane. He will be acting as our guide and translator when we land."

"That's mighty generous, isn't it?" Integra didn't bother containing a distrustful disdain.

Walter noticed her apprehension towards a certain Russian, but then again, it was his job after all.

"Sir?"

"Forgive me, Walter," she paused, "but I don't trust this man any further than I can throw him. There is something wrong with him. His story has made me suspicious, to say the least. And it isn't because he is a godless Russian. I just don't trust him. Do you have any information about him?"

He nodded. "A small biography, but I don't if there is enough to your satisfaction. He was born as Dmitri Uric, December 28, 1959. He studied at the University of St. Petersburg, specializing in communication technology. He joined the military, where he served in the Afghanistan. Returning home, he retired from the arms services, and entered the field of diplomacy for the government."

"Is that all?" Asked Integra, her skepticism very clear. "What else is there? Surely, there must be something more about this bloke."

Pausing himself, Walter wasn't sure how to answer to his employer's demands. She was still very young, sometimes still very impatient and impetuous. What else did she want him to say? The information was limited thanks to the Russian government trying to keep everything swept under the rug. No need to send the weakened country into panic and chaos. What he could pull up was the bare minimum. Looking over the documents himself, he found nothing stood out. Mr. Uric was just another man, nothing particularly special about him. Walter was sure that that wasn't what she wanted to hear.

"There really isn't anything else, sir, I'm sorry to say. What did you expect me to find?"

Integra seemed to be lost in her thoughts. When she returned to the real world, she answered him.

"After all of these years of silence. After the Red Curtain was pulled. After a dictator put a stop to freedom of press, speech, and religion, the Russian government decides to bring us, the United Kingdom, to help reign in one of their twisted experiments. Why? Why would they ask us for help?"

"You've seen the pictures, sir. Perhaps the beast was too much for them to handle?" He answered.

"Maybe," she turned to the window again. Russia was still very gray. "But these are Russians we are talking about. The burned down their capital twice now to keep it from being taken. They are used to frozen climates and short growing seasons. They are built tough, meant to endure more than anyone else can. Yet they cannot find their own monster? Two things must be true, then."

Holding out her hand, she counted off from her thumb to her index finger.

"One, they are not at all competent or two, that Russian is lying through his teeth."

"About what, sir?"

Integra sighed and reclined into her chair, frustrated.

"I don't know. He and his story just don't make much sense to me. And they came specifically for the Hellsing Organization. I find that very strange."

Nevermore did she turn towards her window. Sickened by the sight of the unattractive landscape, she pulled the curtain all the way down with a huff. After a while, she couldn't stand the silence either.

"How is our cargo holding up?"

"You mean, _him_, sir?"

She nodded silently.

"I haven't checked on Alucard myself. I've been told he's seems to be getting quite nicely. A bit giddy, someone said. It might just be because he hasn't traveled this far east. He may be looking forward to shedding blood on the virgin ground."

"Do you think he can contain himself? I don't want my first big mission to be besmirched by civilian causalities."

"Only you are able to determine that." Walter answered solemnly. "He obeys only you after all."

"Right," she mumbled as she rested her hand on her chin, turning inward to the thoughts plaguing her mind.

Walter saw the gears in her head turning, crunching. It was best to leave her alone for a while. He left her there to contemplate while he headed back to the cargo hold.

_He _was already awake. Alucard sat on his coffin, a gleeful look on his face. Walter shuddered to think about went on in that mind of his. It couldn't be anything decent.

"Why are you up? It's still broad daylight. Shouldn't you be sleeping?" He made his way towards the vampire.

"Do you remember Dresden, my friend?"

Walter didn't know what was going on inside Alucard's head, although he probably didn't want to know to begin with. He failed to see what his remembrance of the German city had to do with anything, especially on a high-stakes mission in Russia. Dresden had no connections to the present whatsoever, so why would Alucard bother to mention it now of all times? It wasn't like him to reminisce at times like these. He was more concerned with battle strategies, checking and cleaning his guns, resting, or even just coming up with new creative ways to kill his enemies. Just what on earth was he thinking?

"I remember it. Why do you ask?"

If Alucard's grin could grow any wider, he'd need a new face to stick it on. He bared his shark teeth, rolling his long tongue over his lips as if savoring the taste of the memory.

"I just had a very interesting dream. One that I think you may find interesting as well. Dresden, Germany, a fine little city. Bombed in World War II, the body count was high."

"Yes, yes. I was there too." He replied in a bored tone.

"Do you remember _her_? The one I found in Dresden. My little Blood-stained Joan of Arc."

Walter went dead quiet, eliciting a dark chuckle from Alucard.

"So you do remember her?"

"She disappeared, didn't she? After the war? She went off to Poland for some reason or another and vanished off the face of the earth."

"Wrong."

Walter was silenced yet again.

"People do not simply vanish. Even corpses leave behind a trace after life has been drained out and souls ripped from their vessels. People do not vanish. Especially her." Alucard nearly leaped from his coffin. "I can feel her. She's here. I can sense the beast within her, a savage hunger burning up her insides. Yes, I can sense her. Feel her. Smell her. The aroma of blood and lilies fills my senses."

"Are you sure it's her? It's been over forty years." He was not looking forward to delivering this news to Sir Integra. One monster was enough. Being forced to find another was not going to make her happy.

"Without a doubt. She's on the hunt for the monster those foolish Communists sought to create."

"How do you know that the incident in Leningrad wasn't because of her?"

Alucard chuckled. "Then you don't remember her very well then. The wolfish lamb, the gentle hunter, a blood-seeking saint, fiend angelica. Don't you remember, Walter? She is capable of such a feat, but never would she stoop to that kind of low level ghoulish undertakings. _Manners_, she always boasted of her manners, and making a banquet like at Leningrad would be beneath her."

* * *

Midnight

Anastasia stared at the stolen meat sitting in her lap as she squatted in the bushes. Her ears perked at the movement. Footsteps came close to her, but then turned away. Her heart was beating a million times a minute. The Styrofoam crunched under her nails, thin plastic tearing. Bearing her fangs, the hunger was nearly unbearable. She had waited too long for to eat and her body was drained from work. The owner and manager of the restaurant was a slave driver. She wouldn't allow any breaks longer than ten minutes on a nine hour shift. Anastasia had half a mind to...well, basically eat her. But as she reminded herself time and time again, the very phrase was her aspiration for the day, that she was a sentient being, not an eating machine.

The smell of blood filling her nostrils. Licking her lips, she could practically taste the steak, all bloody and raw, just the way she liked it. There was something very satisfying about meat straight from the butcher. The warmth of fresh blood was the only thing that was missing. Times were tough. It wasn't like she lived in the wilderness where she could get all of the fresh meat she wanted. This would have to do.

She waited for absolute silence before slipping further into the shadows. She crawled to the base of a large oak tree, where the lights could not reach.

Her hunger was building up to that moment. Her fangs elongated, the tips of her claws tingled. Without further hesitation, she cut through the pathetic barrier; the plastic was no match for her claws. The steak still ran with blood. Anastasia sunk her teeth into the piece of beef, sucking at the blood until she drained the whole thing. When finished with that, the only thing left to do was to finish the rest, waste not. Shoveling what remained into her mouth, admittedly she did not do it with an ounce of propriety. She was so hungry. She could hardly remember when the last time she had a decent meal was. At the Slovinov's, though she didn't complain, food was sparse. They barely enough had enough to feed them all, including her. Stealing food was an option she didn't like, but the alternatives weren't any better.

Three months she'd been at it and she kept getting better, smarter, faster It was a perfect crime because she simply did not exist in any of the police forces records. Everything about her was a lie. Nothing was what it seemed and everything was fake. She didn't even have to wear gloves. Her prints would not be in any system and they had nothing to compare it to.

Anastasia ate until she was satisfied and the beast within her was conquered, at least for now. Looking at her clothes, she smiled a congratulatory smile. Somehow, by a miracle of some kind, not a drop of blood stained the front of her jacket. It would have been hard to explain how it got there. She sighed, completely relaxed now with her stomach full. She would have gladly taken a nap right there in the dirt if it weren't for the fact that it was midnight. She would need to go home soon. Mrs. Slovinov would go into hysterics if she didn't find Anastasia in bed in the morning when she went to wake up the children for school. The girl would never hear the end of it.

The Styrofoam plate the stolen meat was packaged, along with the plastic wrap, in was left at the base of the tree. She dusted off the back of her pants. Anastasia stood up, refreshed, and started her way home. When she reentered the street, a few men seemed to be in search of something. Just three men in all, wearing nothing but shirts, pants and aprons dusted with blood, butchers by trade. It was a family business by all appearances. A father and his two sons working together to make ends meet, no pun intended. They had no idea that their culprit was walking right past them. She had been wearing a ratty old sweatshirt to accomplish the deed and switched with her hand-me-down jacket. None of them was able to see her properly, moving so fast their weak humans eyes couldn't catch up. She suppressed a laugh from her throat lest they ask her what she found so funny, to which she would reply, "You," but then she'd give herself away. Stifling herself, hiding her mouth underneath her gray scarf, Anastasia was able to brush past them, without them even recognizing her. They spouted off expletives and curses, however none of this alleviated their frustration.

The younger son ruffled his hair angrily.

"I just don't get it! How could he have gotten past? I was standing right there!"

"When I get my hands on that filthy little thief, I'm going rip his arms off!" Shouted the father.

His sons yelled in agreement. Anastasia kept walking. Leaving them in the wake of her crime was quite satisfying. It gave her rush to see her enemies and victims become so frustrated and confused. It may have even boosted her ego to see them rant and rave like children when they lost their favorite toy. Normally, she would never go out of her way to harass her mortal neighbors, but she had to admit it was fun to watch be so aggravated and to waltz right up to them nearly sent her into a laughing fit. It was a good thing she had complete control over her all of her instincts. It would not have been so amusing to sit in jail for petty theft. She could still hear them raving down on the other end of the street. Her hearing was far superior to her neighbors surrounding her. If they had any idea that someone like her walked the streets, they would be far more careful with what they thought and said was now walking far away enough as to mover her scarf back down. She nearly knocked into a tall man and his group of friends.

"Excuse me," she apologized, and continued on her way.

They said nothing at first, but then she heard it.

_Well, she's a pretty one._

_What I'd give to have that girl in bed._

And then the whisper, "Are you guys thinking what I'm thinking?"

Anastasia whipped around on her heels, glaring. Her scare tactics weren't so effective. She could only glare. Her teeth could not be shown unless she wanted them to scream 'monster' in the streets. They stood outside a pub, watching her leave, looking greedy and hungry. Their eyes were glued to certain features on her body, her legs, her breasts, her hips, and her mouth. The glow of the pub heightened their menacing stares. Did they really scare her? Not a bit. The one thing, the only thing that scared her was being caught. She couldn't kill them nor could she use any of her abilities to scare them away. The safest bet was to outrun them.

She turned her back on them, flipping them the bird before heading off again. Anastasia knew what was coming. Her ears picked up the sound of their footsteps following behind her. The four of them would be difficult to lose, especially with few people around the streets. It wasn't exactly a holiday. Why would they go out on a night like this? One would think that she would fight back with her superman strength. No one would believe them if they told others that they met Super Woman in the middle of Moscow. Really, who would believe a group of drunk Russians? It posed as a possible option, but she still didn't want to take the chance. For the most part, she was thankful that she had eaten earlier. Her bestial hunger was control. She would be less tempted to gobble them up as dessert.

They continued to follow her down the street. At this point, they were just being annoying. Anastasia was more or less irritated that they were even trying to be sneaky. How she hated proud men.

She increased her pace, yet they still followed her. Glancing over her shoulders, she found them still hot on her trail. Their filthy thoughts swept through her brain. She nearly choked on the bile rising in her throat. The things they wanted to do to her. They were lucky she had already decided not to kill them. Too much work and there was plenty of evidence in Leningrad the police could connect their deaths to if she changed her mind. It was too risky.

The hair on the back of her neck stood on end. She could smell them. She could have picked up the scent of booze and cigars from a mile away. Their scent nearly overwhelmed her; her nostrils were getting their fill of the stench. There was so much of the smell of alcohol surrounding her, it was enough to make her tipsy herself.

Their footsteps were getting closer still. One of them called out to her.

"Where are you going beautiful?" His hand grazed against her shoulder.

Anastasia moved out of the way, uttering a curse. They were persistent, she'd give them credit for their perseverance.

"Where are you heading off to so late? We just want to have a little fun." One of his comrades called out.

"Your idea of fun and mine are two _very_ different things. Good-night, sir."

In a second, she regretted mouthing off. A pair of hands grabbed her from behind, arms like tree trunks around her waist. Anastasia didn't put up much of a fight at first. Her arms were trapped and pinned to her sides by the massive arms.

"I said, where do you think you're going?" One of the men hissed in her ear.

She kicked furiously, but there was no helping it. Stronger than him, she had the ability to break free and sever his arms clean from their sockets, but she refused. A little voice in her head told her not to. Later, if she got out of this in one piece, she would have a serious conversation with the little nuisance stuck inside her head.

_Why do humans have to be so fragile?_ She cursed.

The one holding her captive dragged her into a darkened alley, his friends following behind. They checked behind them. Anastasia watched them look out for any witnesses or cops.

When all was in the clear, the one tossed her to the ground. Her hair spread like a veil over her face.

"Now that we've got you to ourselves, what do you say?" He and his friends laughed. "You can't get away and there's no one to help you. I bet you've done it before anyone, so don't act all prudish, you little bitch."

He should not have said that.

Screw the tiny voice in her head. This just got personal.

Anastasia got back to her feet, her hair masking much of her face.

"Repeat that last part, will you?"

The men stood around, dumbfounded.

"I asked you to repeat what you just said to me. Now tell me, what did you just say? What did you just call me?"

"Bitch," her captor answered. He was obviously the leader. This was the one who suggested gang rape her.

This time Anastasia allowed her fangs to elongate. It had been three months since she last bared her fangs before a human. The last time was when she took a chunk out of a security guard's neck, spraying the laboratory wall red.

Almost immediately, the men back away by an inch when they saw the silver fangs glimmering beneath her pink lips. They were staring at her mouth for a whole new reason now.

"You know," she removed her gloves to reveal her nails, which were growing again, "that some of us find that word very offensive."

Like scared children, they made a break for it, but too late. Anastasia leapt in front of them, blocking the narrow exit. The wind picked up. Her hair swirled around her head like a devastating halo, red as blood and acted like it had a will of its own, flowing, swirling, moving. Her black eyes glared back at them, though the color was diluted now with crimson. She drew her nails on one hand lazily against the brick wall, scraping downwards. The cement and brick was no match. In the darkness, they all could see four jagged marks where her fingers had been.

"Freak!" The weakest link shouted.

Anastasia turned her head towards him, smirking and revealing one of her razor sharp fangs. He was the shortest and the smallest of the bunch. Scruffy, weak, there was a reason why he hung around the other three, and it wasn't because he enjoyed their deeply philosophical conversations. Sweat was running down his forward. She could tell that he was violently shaking.

"Oh, I'm the freak?" She edged towards them. "You pluck an unarmed woman off the street with every intent to rape her, and you call me the freak? Boys, you picked the wrong night and the wrong woman."

Claws fully extended, fangs their proper size for ripping and tearing, she had every intention of teaching them a lesson they would never forget. Rough them up a little, but not kill mind you.

The hair on her neck tingled, however she didn't know why it would. The men were no longer a threat to her. She was the one who had the advantage now. Why would her hair stick up when she had her enemies back into a corner, scared witless?

Red, something red descended from the sky. She heard the fluttering of fabric rippling in the harsh wind. She froze. She froze as the thing fell softly to the ground. The thing was a man and as his back was turned to her, the blood stopped in her veins. Suddenly there was nothing but her and the mysterious stranger clad in red.

"Are you in need of assistance, Cosette?"

The velvet smooth and dark as night voice chilled her blood.

"W-what?"

That voice…that voice.

_Run._

Her animal instincts were fighting for control. It screamed at her to run, but her feet were glued apparently. She swallowed hard as he turned over his shoulder, his eye the color of dried blood.

"I've missed you since Warsaw. I knew you were here. I could smell it. Your perfume is hard to miss. Sweet as the Easter lily and drenched in the smell of copper, the smell of blood."

_Cosette? Is that my real name?_ There was little time to have an identity crisis.

_ . .run._

The tiny voice kept getting louder and louder. At this point, it was easier to let her instincts take over. There was something very wrong with this man. Inhaling the air deeply, she smelled an odor far more repugnant than cheap beer and cigars. It was the smell of death. Normally, it wouldn't bother her. Staring at him, face to face with a monster like herself, for what else could he be, she found a reason to be bothered. The smell coming off of him and wafting towards her was too much for her. Her head became dizzy with sensory overload. Her sleeve was held up to her nose so she wouldn't get any stronger whiffs from him.

Losing all of his attention to her would-be attackers, the stranger in red turned completely on his heel. His head was half hidden by the shadows of his oversized fedora. His black hair waved in the wind as he removed it. His grin was full of sharp teeth.

"It is good to see that you survived the war. What have you been up to all this time?"

The man was completely oblivious to her shaking knees and defensive position. Her legs moved on their own. She was no longer interested in fighting. Her fangs and claws shortened.

"Y-you have me mistaken for someone else." She said shaking her head. "My name is Anastasia."

His smile faded. He returned his hat to its proper place.

"I couldn't have. There's no mistaking it. You fought in World War II, eliminating the secret battalion of vampire soldiers. The revenge you sought after they turned you into what you are today. I remember how I fell in love with your hair that first time we met, in Dresden. It is the color of blood."

Still shaking her head, more violently. "No, no, no."

He continued to advance. Anastasia, or whatever her name was, at this point it was all too much for her to take all at once.

"You _are _Cosette Chastel. I know who you are." He had taken on an angry, frustrated tone. "Bloody Saint Joan, Joan of the Wolves, Fiend Angelica. Do these names mean nothing to you?"

"NO!" She spun immediately, hair flying behind her in her mad rush to get away.


	4. Chapter 4

Somewhere in Moscow

The scent was undeniable. Alucard took a long whiff of the Russian. Spring was on its way after a long winter. The winter lasted longer than they had thought, but it was at an end now. Normally, April was much warmer. The meteorologists didn't take into account of Mother Nature's fickle, well, nature. But that wasn't what he was looking for.

She was here in Moscow. Her innocence was her trademark, so sweet and full of life, however blood tainted the smell and her natural scent was a mixture of he only described as lilies and copper. Sweet, powerful, deadly.

"Just what are you doing on the roof, Alucard?"

He turned around to find his master very cross with him. Her brows were furrowed deeply and behind her large, circular frames her blue eyes glared at him. Her petite arms were crossed over her chest. Her mouth was pulled into a disappointing frown. He bowed deeply, removing his hat from his head.

"Forgive me, my master, but the night air seemed to delightful this evening."

"What are you really doing up here?"

Placing his hat back where it belonged and straightening himself up to stand perfectly erect.

"Her scent is in the air. It permeates the whole city. Above everything else, the motored vehicles, the people, garbage, food, all of the things that you would find in a city, her scent rises above it all."

"And what do you intend to do? What will happen when you meet again? Will she even be able to recognize you? It's been over forty years."

"Integra, sir, my master. We fought together. She gave her word to return once she had finished her business in Poland."

Integra looked at him skeptically. "And what business was that?"

"No doubt the destruction of the laboratory that created her. She spoke of it so often with hatred and righteous fury. She wanted to burn the place down and watch the smoke rise into the night. Those were her exact words."

"Did you find out what they were working on? With her? What did the Nazis have in store for her?"

"Just as they attempted to make a vampire army, they wanted to see if they could push the limits in making their soldiers into inhuman beasts of blood. Cosette is nothing like you've seen before."

"Ah," she chuckled. "So the famous_ she_ you've been rambling on about has a name."

"Cosette Chastel. A French prisoner of war until 1944 when she escaped. I remember every story she told, explaining how she came to be the monster she was, and is now. I can feel her presence as we speak. A lone wolf prowling the night."

Integra heaved an annoyed sigh.

"Go to her."

"My Master?"

Integra turned on her heels, waving him off from behind her shoulder.

"You heard me. If you're that fascinated with her, go and find her. It's getting very tiresome to listen to you going on and on about this woman. It feels like I know her as a sister they way you keep talking about her. Find her and bring her to me. We just might have an opening for a new monster."

Alucard grinned, bowing deeply again. "Yes, my master."

He disappeared into the night sky and then was seen no more.

"Why do I put up with him?" She went back to the exit, descending down the stairs. Her young mind hated to think of how many years she had left having that man work for her. It seemed to dwindle every time he managed to give her a migraine.

Walter stood waiting at the bottom of the first flight of stairs going down.

"Tell me, Walter, what do you remember of this girl that has so easily captured our faithful midian's attention?"

"Short-build, red hair, black eyes. Visible fangs and claws, though she could shorten her fangs to a size that wouldn't seem too abnormal and trimmed her nails like you and I would. French, but I believe that she said that her father was either English or American. I can't remember which one it was. That was forty-six years ago, sir."

They continued down the long stairwell together.

"What else?" Integra continued to probe.

"Like Alucard, she had a thirst for blood, but she wasn't a vampire."

"What was she then?"

Walter paused to think. "We never did find out and she never fully disclosed that information. All that she had us to believe that she was part vampire…and part something else. We didn't spend that much time together. Once she joined our forces in forty-four, we were sent on different missions. I was partnered with Alucard for many of them, but she was left to deal with the Nazis on her own. Secrets came with the package, I'm afraid. The only thing we were sure of was that she was once human, and that the Germans changed her into something else."

Their footsteps echoed against the walls.

"Why didn't you tell me about any of this earlier? Or to my father when he was alive?"

"As Alucard and I explained earlier, she was never seen again after 1945. She left our ranks and headed to Poland by herself. There has never been hide nor hair of her since. We figured that we would never see her again, and so we remained silent."

"What was she like? What was her fighting style?"

"She didn't use weapons except her teeth, claws, and superhuman strength. Well, there was _one_ other thing she liked to use."

He paused and before he could pick up again, Integra interrupted him.

"Which was?"

"It is hard to explain, but she was a bit of a pyromaniac. She could control fires with a snap of her fingers. Like this," he snapped his own fingers, the sound resonating in the stairwell, "and bursts of flames explode anywhere she wished. That is why she was called Project Hell Hound."

"Personality wise, she was complicated at best and horrible at worst. Unlike Alucard, she had perfect control over her powers and hunger. Sometimes anti-social, a bit of a loner, but she was also your typical teenage girl. Sometimes vain and she would go into hysterics if she broke a nail. She was French, so you could probably say that more often than not, she was rather…"

"Rude?" Integra finished for him.

"Yes," he said, "that. But beyond her savage exterior, was someone who was still human. She refused to kill off an enemy who was already injured. She would starve herself and give the food to a soldier who needed it more than she did. She never laid a finger against a woman or child."

"Will she willingly work for us?"

"She aided your father, I'm sure that her loyalty will transfer to you."

* * *

Somewhere else in Moscow

Her scent was getting stronger and stronger now. His excitement grew.

Images flashed in his mind. Images of little Cosette wearing a British uniform painted red with blood, claws fully extended and white fangs perforating red lips. He could see her heels crushing the skull of an enemy, tears ripping, her teeth sinking into the soft muscle of a Nazi's heart, even while it was still beating. Hands dripping in warm blood.

Rain falling on her face on their last night together on the battlefield. Her hair spread over her body like liquid, covering her most delicate curves. A dangerous thing looking so vulnerable sitting on the ground among corpses. Her pale skin starch white against the night's darkness.

Looking below him, he planted himself on a rooftop, eyes peering down below. He found her. She walked right underneath him, but she didn't seem to notice. Cold meat was on her breath like she had been eating raw steak. By all appearances, she was normal. Too normal in fact. She dressed like a peasant. Her clothes had that 'pre-worn' smell. It nearly masked her scent when he was so close to her.

Alucard remained out of sight as he walked along the rooftops, flying across chasms and alleys to keep up with her. She was slower than he remembered. This was odd because she still looked so young. Still sixteen by the look of her.

_What I'd give to have her in bed_.

The foreign thought disrupted him. Looking down, he spotted four male individuals leering at Cosette as she left them behind.

"Are you guys thinking what I'm thinking?" He overheard one of them say.

Their minds were open books, and they would never know that a vampire had entered their minds. Although, he wouldn't need to in order to understand that they had perverted ideas for her in mind. But snickered at this.

"You little fools. She's going to rip you to shreds."

He wanted to watch this blood play finish before he'd reintroduce himself. Alucard kept following her and her groupies. Then he noticed that something else was odd with her. Her heart rate spiked. Surely, she couldn't be afraid of them?

Her black eyes looked over her shoulder, but she glared at them. And that was it.

Why wasn't she fighting them in the streets? Why didn't she just lure them into an alley and slaughter them all ready? All she was doing was walking ahead them, running away. This wasn't the blood-coated woman he met in Dresden. This was someone else entirely.

He couldn't have been wrong. The smell was the same. It was defiantly her. Maybe she got soft over the years?

"Your definition of fun and mine are two _very_ different things. Good-night, sir." She spoke in near perfect Russian.

That was when the real trouble started. Alucard watched as she was dragged away by a single man into an alley, his friends following suit. Her efforts to fight back and escape were nowhere on the level he expected them to be. She was fighting back like some human. What was going on with her? Didn't she understand that if she put up this front they would violate her? Alucard knew the foul things they had in store for her. They would take turns ripping apart her chastity until there was nothing left but her body bleeding on the ground. He would have stepped in sooner, but he wanted to see where this went.

He was about to, realizing that she wasn't going to fight using her old techniques, when one of the idiots down below decided to use the B-word in front of her.

She took offense to that. He knew how that song and dance went.

Claws were extended, fangs protruding from her lips. She had them quivering in the furthest corner.

There were a few words between one of them and Cosette, but now Alucard was just getting bored. And annoyed. He had a few questions to ask her.

He jumped down from the building, falling straight into the alley. His duster coat fluttering in the night wind, and billowing in every direction. The men shriveled up before him, more terrified now than when they just had to deal with the woman behind him. He showed them his teeth, and they became sniveling girls. Each sank to the ground. They each tried to gain their sanities, but ultimately failed.

He turned his head across his left shoulder. "Are you in need of assistance, Cosette?"

Her black eyes stared at him dumbly. She looked as if she didn't recognize him. She stammered and shook, characteristics he was not familiar seeing her with. He tried coaxing her with questions, but she remained as a frightened kitten. Her eyes were able to tell him everything; that she wasn't herself, that she didn't recognize him for a reason, and that she was about to run away again.

"You have me mistaken for someone else." She still used Russian.

Knowing that there were civilians still around, he used French. Not only would the civilians not know what he was saying, but it might trigger her into telling the truth. If she was ling.

When she replied with no like a broken record, Alucard was officially in a foul mood. Why wouldn't she drop the act? The instinct-driven fear was pouring off of her body. Sweat dove down from her forehead. Her limbs were shaking. Her feet were moving backwards, readying herself for a retreat. The thing was, she didn't recognize.

Before he could ask, she was gone. He watched as her red hair flew behind her like a maddened ribbon in the wind until he saw it no more in the distance. A guttural sound erupted from his throat. Frustrated, he couldn't return to Sir Integra like this. He needed to take this out on something.

One of the sniveling cowards began talking about escape.

Hello, misplaced aggression.

The air was like icy daggers shooting down her throat and all the way down to her chest. Weather was getting warmer, but the air she breathed as she panted for breath might as well have been freezing. With each breath, it felt like knives puncturing her lungs. Anastasia, Cosette, whatever her names was kept running until she could no longer see that dark alley behind her. She ran and kept running, instincts rushing her forward. He smelled of blood, so much blood that even to her it was unbearable. Her animal instincts were right. Her legs didn't stop moving until she reached the Slovinov's.

Anastasia slammed it shut upon her entering. The downstairs bedroom door opened, Mrs. Slovinov came out dressed in her gown and bathrobe.

"Anastasia, dear, what's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost. What happened to you?" She went to the girl who was still panting.

"I-I'm not sure what," she pushed past the woman and immediately went up the stairs. "I would like to be alone."

Mrs. Slovinov ran to the foot of the stairs. She didn't leave it there.

"That's not good enough, young lady. Please tell me what's going on. I can help you if you're hurt."

"No, I'm fine." Anastasia answered hastily.

She went into the bathroom, softly shutting the door behind her. The light remained off. In the darkness, the fear and the anxiety overwhelmed her. With her back against the door, Anastasia slid down it. Her face was buried in her hands, which trembled at the very thought of that man. His eyes were inhuman. Drenched in the smell of blood and eyes like the color of wine, that man was powerful. She could smell it; she could smell the years rolling off of him like an ancient relic. Just how old was he?

She couldn't be afraid of him, could she? Is that why she couldn't stop shaking? Her whole body was shaking against her will, rattling the door a bit. Running her claws through her unruly mane, rocking back and forth, whispering to herself.

"Just what are you? What are you? Who are you?"

When she blinked, all she could see were battlefields piled high with corpses and skies painted with blood. She could smell smoke and gun powder, but there were none. Not at least in a physical sense. She could hear crying, howling, and screaming, but there was no one who was hurt. Anastasia was sitting on the bathroom floor. Everything else was in her head.

"Get out of my head!"

All she could see was his face. His eyes. His tall form looming over her, darkness engulfing her. His voice was in her ears, in her head, but she still couldn't shake him. The images were only getting worse the harder she tried to force him out. Something in the back of her mind was pulling him back inside of her. The harder she pushed him away, the stronger the memory of him became. It was like he had already planted a seed of himself inside her brain, like he didn't want her to forget him.

"Just go away." Her voice was hoarse now, dried up and cracking. Her breathing wasn't any better. Taking a single breath was a struggle and exhaling was just as hard.

He couldn't be. He couldn't be the key to her memories, he just couldn't be. There had to be something else out there. He could not have been the missing puzzle. There was no way, and even if he was, she would never let him go near her again. This was the great irony. The fearsome dog terrified of a man?

But he wasn't just a man was he?

There was a darkness and violence all around him. He was more of a monster than she was. She never killed for pure pleasure; the scientists in Leningrad got what was coming to them. They tortured, she killed them. It was a fair trade. However, this man, this thing, whatever he was, he killed for pleasure. She could see it in his eye and that toothy, greedy, smug smile of his. He liked to hunt, and everything was prey to him. There was an insanity about him. Anastasia could feel this twisted, dark energy coming off of him. He killed without a thought. And he enjoyed every second of it.

Truth be told, she felt sorry for the men she left behind, even if they did want to rape her. She would have at least let them live. That man back there wasn't so kind, or at least, that is what she assumed. She judged him with her eyes, nose, and animal instinct. He wasn't just a killer; he was a blood-drinker. Her reveled in the night, dining on the blood of the innocents and the weak. A vampire. Another great irony was that she thought she was the only freak on the planet. She didn't believe that other monsters actually existed. Yet there he was standing tall and proud and vicious, like he could devour her with a single glance and not regret it.

He spoke some things that sounded plausible enough. He told her that she fought in World War II. The Russian scientist said something like that. Doubt quickly crept inside of her skull like a worm shoveling its way in the ground. A sharp, painful spasm erupted like a volcano, spreading throughout her head. Anastasia hissed in pain, biting her lip. Her sharp teeth easily broke her skin and the blood trickled down to her chin. She shook her head violently. If the memory of him and the idea that he was a key to her past caused her pain, then she would think of him no more.

"No," she denied this thought. "I will not go to him again. I do not need him. I don't want him. I can figure myself out on my own."

* * *

1:45 A.M

A hotel in Moscow

Dmitri Uric stood outside his window, phone glued to his ear.

"They took the bait, sir. We'll fish out the little dog soon enough. The Hellsing Organization is very good at what they do, despite having someone so young as their head. Their expert hunter is said to the best of the best. A real vampire."

'_Good job, Uric. I'll be sure to be that bonus in your check next week. Have they raised any suspicions about this whole operation?'_

"No, sir; I don't think they even realize that they're being used as delivery boys." Dmitri added with a chuckle.

'_I didn't think that the English were so quick to judge like the American cows.'_

"Speaking of which, as they say across the Pacific, don't count your chickens before they hatch. The head of the Hellsing Organization, Sir Integra Hellsing, does not have her fullest confidence in me. She has not raised any alarm among her peoples, but I would expect that she will make a move by the end of our hunt."

'_Then make sure to dispose of her, and her organization. Under years of isolation beneath the foot of the personality-cult promoting Stalin and the autocratic, self-absorbed, ignorant czarist regime, the Russian people will finally have someone to look up to. With this monster in our hands, we will be able to rebuild Russia to its former glory. A new empire. Can you imagine it, Uric?'_

He nodded, "Yes, I can, sir."

'_Keep that vision in your mind's eye, Uric. The reconstruction of an empire rests on this mission. Screw up, and you'll be joining the poor devils in Leningrad.'_

Nodding again, fear pulsing through him now, "I understand sir."

'_Remember what to do when Hellsing corners the beast. We want it alive. Don't let her kill it.'_

"I know, sir. Leave it to me."

_Don't disappoint me, Uric._

The caller ended the conversation with a click. Dmitri hung up the phone with a sigh. He took out a cigarette from his pocket, lit one end, and took a long drag.

"It's like she doesn't even trust me or something." He shook his head, and then sighed. "So much pressure on a single man. It's like she wants me to kill over from a heart attack from all this stress. _The reconstruction of an empire rests on this mission_. Basically, on my shoulders. Frigid woman."

Someone knocked three times at his door.

"Enter, comrade."

The door opened and shut. Stephen, one of the hired hands lent to him by his employer, rushed in and whispered to him.

"The bat returns to his belfry." Then he rushed off somewhere.

Dmitri stamped his cigarette to its death on the near-by ash tray.

"Let's see what bat-boy has to share with the class."

* * *

Conference Room

Dmitri sat next to Sir Integra. The butler was standing by behind her as usual. Two men who he was working with sat on the other end of the table. The room was dimly lit. The light buzzed above them, giving him a headache.

Rubbing his temples, "Where is your agent, Sir Integra? My colleagues and I cannot be kept waiting so late at night."

"He'll be here shortly," she answered snidely. "Patience is a virtue, Mr. Uric."

He nodded. _Such a vindictive child. Who died and made her head of anything beyond a Girl Scout troop?_

And just like that, the man in question burst into the room, the doors clanging open and shut. His boots stomped angrily on the floor. His visage frightened the two Russians, and even Dmitri became nervous.

The vampire appearance was more on his sleeve today. Literally. The cuffs of his coat were soaked in red, and it didn't belong to the material. Integra looked at him sternly.

"Explain yourself, Alucard. Why is there blood on your coat?"

"I was defending a young woman from rape, master. I was forced to use less than acceptable means."

Her knuckles cracked. One could see her teeth grinding hard against each other.

"And why was that?"

He went silent.

"Answer me, Alucard. That's an order. Why did you use excessive force to stop a rapist?" Integra stood from her seat, palms face down on the table.

"I was, admittedly, perturbed at the time. You told me to go and find Cosette, did you not? I did, but however I failed to bring her back. She is not the woman from forty-six years ago."

"First, you failed to accomplish an order based on a psychological technicality, and second, you kill a rapist because you were angry?"

"Allow me to explain further before a vein pops in your forehead. With all due respect, master, it wouldn't be good if you hurt yourself with so much stress."

Integra sat back down again, but she wasn't happy about it. Her fingers were locked together and touched her mouth. She glared him, and only that, though he was lucky to get just that.

"Cosette Chastel is certainly in Moscow, but she is not the same Cosette Chastel Walter and I are familiar with. She has lost her memories."

She looked confused. "I'm sorry. Repeat that again."

"She has no recollection of who she is or who I am. I appeared in front of her but she seemed distant, frightened even. The war, her revenge, everything is lost. Even her personality is different. She is not confident and her fighting strategy is not the same. In every sense, she is not the same woman except in body." His tone was bitter.

There was a long moment of silence. Integra stared down at the vampire, who still appeared rather miffed. A long lost ally had forgotten all about him. In some ways he was right to be that way. In another sense, he may have been justified in rescuing a woman from rape, however that mess would have to wait until tomorrow, i.e. later that day.

"I have come to a conclusion about the beast from Leningrad. After hearing your story and Walter's about this _Cosette_, and now that I've learned that she had no memory of her past life, I believe that she and the beast are the same thing. Since there have been no further attacks since three months ago, the coincidences are too great."

"Sir, are you thinking of eliminating the girl?" Walter asked.

"We don't have all of the facts. I'm merely stating that she is the prime suspect. I personally believe that she is, but with the information at hand, I don't know if we can truly say that she is responsible for her actions. Not entirely. Assuming correctly, she was held prisoner by the laboratory. Plus having amnesia, the extreme duress of being held against her will took a toll on her mind. If she has not killed a single human since her escape, it tells me that she has some humanity that can be salvaged. However, we cannot have her running loose. We must capture her at all costs before something goes horribly wrong. If one thing goes wrong and she flies off the edge, then yes, we will have to put her down."


	5. Chapter 5

Author's note: I know that there are a few people out there who are pointing out some of the grammar errors in the chapters. First, thank you. My laptop's keyboard doesn't function the way it should because there was an incident with water, and I'm sure you can figure out what happened after that. So when I get my hands on the home computer, I typed very fast. I mean really fast. I've never had this kind of thing timed, but I probably should. Anyway, that probably explains why there are more errors than I usually expect. I'm usually too lazy to read the whole thing before I post, and I don't like handing my work over to some to read it. I know its weird, but do you think that Da Vinci asked somebody to look over the Mona Lisa and critic and fix it? Not that I try to make myself the Da Vinci of writing or anything. It's just an analogy. Some of the dialog, should be noted has being correct in the English language because in certain parts I have tried to pull of Russian accent for the character. I don't really come across or write about a Russian character, so if it looks odd, that's probably why. One last thing, I'd really like some more reviews. I've had a rough week, and I'd like a little more appreciation. This chapter alone has taken me a few days to write. My birthday last Friday was a disaster and it was really hard to get myself motivated enough to write this. Please and thank you. XOXO

* * *

A sudden rap at the door awakened her immediately. Anastasia found herself lying on the bathroom floor, hair sticking to her face.

"Anastasia, are you in there?" Mrs. Slovinov's voice breached through the door.

"Y-yes," she croaked in reply.

"Anastasia, dear," the woman became overly concerned and wary, "did you sleep in there the whole night?"

"I think so." Anastasia pulled herself up off the floor.

Her body ached from exhaustion. Her eyelids felt heavy and her eyes burned. She didn't have anything to drink so this wasn't a hang-over. When she blinked, she could still see his red eyes staring at her. The image of that man kept her up so late. He was like a disease spreading throughout her body, and it was a drain on her immune system.

Today was her second day of work. She couldn't be late. She needed a shower and a change of clothes. Sitting up against the door, she looked down at her feet only to find that she had left her shoes on all night. She tried to forget about what happened, but it was impossible. Standing up, she faced the mirror as was her daily ritual and saw that her scarf was askew. Because she didn't bother changing at all last night, her scarf came partially undone. It was wrinkled to the very inch of its life, had been pulled at and tugged on all night, and the knot holding it together was about to untie itself. She carefully tugged on it; her nails had grown again. The silk-like cloth had been something she found in a thrift store and kept it around her neck most of the time to avoid people staring. It was a pretty satine red scarf with a smooth texture and weft. It ran like silk underneath her fingers. The texture alone wasn't what she liked about it. It was more than adequate hiding the scar around her neck.

Her nails carefully, deftly ghosted along the reddish-pink line marring across her neck. Miniature shock waves sailed through her body; the memory of that vicious collar still fresh in her mind.

Years. Just how many years had she suffered to wear that dreadful thing? Four years? Five? Ten? Fifteen? There was no way of knowing how long. She could only remember so far back. They wiped her memory, she was sure of it. Who else could be responsible? Year after year, Anastasia counted how many New Year's they celebrated. She counted ten. Was that how long they tethered her down by one miserable collar? Why was she not sure of that then?

"Is everything alright, dear?" Mrs. Slovinov had never left.

"I'm fine. Honest, ma'am." She fussed with her scarf and tied it properly around her neck again.

"Did you go drinking last night? There is no shame in that. As long as you paid, I'll keep it between the two of us."

"NO!" Anastasia said suddenly, startling the woman. Quickly correcting herself, "No, I would never do such a thing. I was...I was harassed by some thugs. I managed to escape them. That's why I didn't want to talk when I got home. I just wanted to be alone for a while."

"Did they hurt you? Did they touch you?"

She hesitated to answer. "They didn't get the chance." Which was the truth.

"You'd tell me if you were hurt, yes?"

"Yes."

"I'll go...and get you some clean clothes. Hop into the shower and I'll leave them on the sink." Mrs. Slovinov's feet could be heard walking down the hall and then disappearing.

Anastasia sighed, untying her scarf yet again. Shoes were kicked off of her feet. Clothes shed. They fell down swiftly, pooling at her feet. Her skin felt clammy to the touch; her clothes were sticky with sweat. There was almost a sigh of relief when she pulled them away from her. It felt like she was shedding dead skin. She loved the feel of her freed skin. It was natural.

Not bothering to wrap a towel around her, Anastasia cleared the bathtub of toys the younger ones left behind from last night. She turned on the cold water, not wanting to use the expensive heater for a quick shower. The near-freezing water sent goose bumps all over her arms and legs.

Her hair was fully soaked through, falling freely down her back. She turned her wrists over. There were scars there too, but from where, she didn't know. Once she had asked someone from the laboratory if they had caused these scars as well. They merely replied that her arms were like that when she was first brought from Poland. They were old slashes over her arteries, faded into a dull rosy color, unlike the scar made by the shock collar which was still a brighter shade of pink. Clenching her fists, her nails dug into her palms, drawing blood.

_Why can't I remember how I got these?_

The blood dripping from her hands swam around the drain as some of the water went with. Mesmerized by the bloody water swirling its way down the drain, Anastasia found herself staring down the tub's drain like she would a black hole. Then there came a sharp, stabbing erupting inside her skull.

Gritting her teeth, her head began to swim as the blood continued to fill her senses. The smell of blood and the smell of war.

_A wet tongue glided over her red hand, licking it clean. Skinny fingers moved to her mouth, already painted with gore. Pinkish fangs protruded from red lips. Gun powder was everywhere and wafted together with the smell of decomposing bodies. Fires were burning somewhere. And a pair of red eyes stared back at her, gleeful at the sight of so much blood._

Anastasia gasped, leaning against the wall in the shower. The cold water burned her skin. Her hair veiled her whole face. Pressure, there was so much pressure in her chest. It was like a stony hand had a hold on her heart and was squeezing the life out of it. One of her hands grabbed the center of her chest, over her sternum, while the other was placed palm down against the wall. Shuddering, those red eyes she had seen in her brief vision were the same as the ones that belonged to the tall, dark, and frightening man who descended from the sky.

"W-why won't you let me be?"

Another rap at the bathroom, and Anastasia nearly jumped out of the shower. She fell back against the opposite wall. Her eyes peaked behind the curtain as the door slowly opened. Claws were raised to strike the intruder, no matter who they were. Instincts practically in full reign. The hair on the back of her neck bristled.

"It's just me," Mrs. Slovinov appeared with a bundle in her hands.

There was a dull thud.

After seeing who it was, Anastasia lowered her hand. Her claws retracted like a cat's.

"Your clothes are on the sink. Don't spend too much time in there. You'll turn into a prune."

The door was closed behind her after her footsteps disappeared again down the hall.

When Mrs. Slovinov was gone, Anastasia noticed how fast her heart had been beating and how fast she was panting for breath. The cold water condensed her breath; puffs of cloudy vapor misting from her thin lips. Her knees were buckling. Fangs were extended and her claws grew again.

_Was I really about to attack her? An innocent woman who has done nothing except help a stranger she and her husband found in the snow? I need to hunt again. A real hunt for fresh meat. If I have to stay so close to humans, I have to stave off this beast. I will not kill another human unless I have to._

Eventually, Anastasia returned to her senses. Her knees gained new strength and she was able to stand straight as she washed herself with her designated washcloth.

_In order to keep myself in check, I have to go off into the woods. I have to hunt for my food. Raw meat isn't going to cut. _She was resolved to leave the city after work, and call from a pay phone the next morning to inform them that she was going on a little journey and would return soon. _I'll put some distance between me and that mad man as well. It'll be killing two birds with one stone._

She finished her shower, dried off, resisting the urge to shake her head everywhere to dry her hair off, and dressed. As she left the bathroom, Mikhail, the Slovinov's eldest child, an eight year old with a head full of short, wavy dark brown locks. Anastasia continued to dry her hair off with the towel, but they stared at each for a while.

"Shouldn't you be in school?" She asked, finally looking away.

"It was a half day today."

"Ah," she grinned. "Well, you're a lucky boy, aren't you? Must be nice to be a kid."

Mikhail looked at his muddy shoes, a pair of hand-me-down boots caked with dirt, grass, and dotted with rough patches of worn-out material. His gaze was fixed only on his feet as he shifted from one foot to the other. A bashful mask on his face gave him away.

"Mikhail, are you alright? You look a little red. Are you running a fever?" Anastasia reached out to feel his forehead.

She was fortunate that the boy protested. Her nails were long and pointed. He withdrew a step or two backwards. It was then that she realized that Mikhail was holding something behind his back.

"What's behind your back, little man?" She asked playfully.

"Um, um," he mumbled. He chewed his lip, shut his eyes, and pulled his arms out from behind his back.

His small hands gripped a couple of bright orange marigolds, freshly cut and well-cared for.

"Are these for me?" Anastasia knelt down on one knee to see his face better.

Mikhail looked so precious all bashful and nervous. His pale cheeks were brightened up with the fresh hue of his pink blush.

He nodded his head rigorously, but stayed silent.

"Did you pay for these?"

"Mrs. Gregori let me sweep her store for these." He muttered shyly.

Anastasia took them carefully from his hands. She held them close to her nose, though it wasn't necessary. Before she could smell the marigold's savory summer accent on its fragile petals. She could smell the soil and the fertilizer that were used in bringing forth floral beauties such as these. She caressed them carefully, reveling in the feel of the soft petals against her fingers. Sniffing them again, she sighed happily.

"They're lovely, Mikhail."

"Really?" The boy was proud that she had noticed his good eyes for flowers. "You really think so?"

He was an excitable fellow too. He stood straight as an arrow as if he was trying to look more mature, but at the same time he appeared as eager as the school boy he really was. He was a good boy. Obedient, smart, healthy, bright and enthusiastic despite so much turmoil surrounding him. Anastasia couldn't help but want to protect his innocent smile.

"I really do. I love them. Thank you."

"Do you...love me?"

Anastasia chuckled, and patted his head.

"Of course, you silly boy."

"You won't go away, will you?"

He also seemed to be a touch clairvoyant.

She ruffled his hair, careful of her nails.

"I have to go out of town for a little while." She instantly regretted telling him this now.

His lower lip drooped and his eyes seemed to grow twice their size. Little tears actually bubbled at the corner of each eye.

Anastasia immediately buried his head in her shoulder just so she wouldn't to look into his pitiful eyes. If she looked on at him for much longer, she might have changed her mind, which was quite possibly a dangerous idea. Running her hands through his hair, she tried to stifle his sweet murmurings, begging her to stay.

"Shhh, shh," she cooed in a soft breath. "It will only be a few days. I'll be back before you know it. I'll come back very soon. I'll always come back home."

"Promise?" He wiped his tears before they started running down his cheeks.

She wanted desperately to wipe his tears away herself, but her nails, her blasted nails, were too long for him not to notice. Anastasia had to be satisfied with just running her fingers through his hair and patting him on top his head.

"I promise."

* * *

Noon

A street in downtown Moscow

Walter tapped on the tinted window with his crisp white glove. Integra rolled it down.

"There appears to be a situation, sir. It seems that the car is stalled."

She poked her head out of the window to find their translator and escort Dmitri and the limo driver fanning a pillar of dark gray smoke with their jackets. She could smell the metal engine burning all the back there.

"I'll say," she said in a wry tone of voice.

"It appears that we will not be able to make our lunch date with Dmitri's superiors. As it is, a tow truck isn't supposed to arrive for another hour."

"That long?" Integra was getting fed up with this God-forsaken country.

"Moscow is a big city. Russia is also the Motherland of Vodka after all. I deeply apologize for this dreadful inconvenience. I shall have Dmitri reschedule for another appointment."

Integra didn't to point out her growling stomach, but even vampire hunters needed to eat. The only reason why she was looking forward to this lunch appointment was the lure of food. She was nervous as of late. She picked at her food as her patience was being picked away by the whole of Moscow. Her arms were crossed over her abdomen.

"What should we do in the mean time? I am rather hungry."

"I'm not sure. I will have to ask Mr. Dmitri if he knows of any decent place to eat around this area of Moscow." The butler disappeared from view, but Integra kept her window rolled down in case he showed up sooner than expected.

Sure enough, he reappeared as quickly as he vanished.

"According to Dmitri, there is a little Mum and Pop's eatery. It isn't quite a five-star restaurant, mind you, but it is decent enough."

"It'll do."

* * *

Nervously, Anastasia knocked on the manager's door. He was hunched over his desk, concentrating on the stacks of papers littering the top.

"You wanted to see me, sir?"

He scratched his head. "Shut the door."

She turned slightly and closed it behind her.

Stephen the manager sat in his rough-looking chair. The yellowish light from his discount store lamps emphasized his age. Wrinkles, particularly in his forehead, were heightened and etched further into detail by the light. In truth, he was actually only forty-seven. For whatever reason, he took on the appearance of a man much older. His scruffy facial hair rarely saw the edge of a blade and his hay-colored hair was tied in a pony-tail behind his neck with a well-worn elastic band. Stephen straightened his dark green shirt as he tried to look as serious as possible.

"I got some complaints yesterday. Wanted to you know how you felt about them."

"Complaints, sir?" Anastasia didn't know what was going on, but her instincts were saying that this was not going to end happily for her.

"It turns out that some of the costumers were a little…unnerved by your presence."

"I don't understand.

"Neither do I." He shrugged. He frowned. "But there is something that put them off, and I'd like to hear your side of the story, if you don't mind."

"I honestly don't know what to tell you, sir. I was as polite as could be. I was nice to the costumers, I was on time, and I worked efficiently. I didn't make mistakes with the orders. I didn't break anything. I'm not sure I follow."

Stephen sighed, crossing his arms across his barrel chest.

"I don't know what to tell you either. I was approached yesterday by a couple of people who said they were not comfortable around you. They gave me this BS story how they could _feel _this dark presence around you. I told them that they were imagining things and they were being superstitious. But what do you know, two or three more show up and say the same thing. I don't know what it is. What I do know is that some people are actually intimidated by you."

With this, he chuckled, to which Anastasia joined in a little, however she couldn't help but feel insulted since the comment was at her expense.

"You barely weigh 58 kilograms. So scrawny. How _you _managed to scare people, I'll never know." His laughter grew louder.

He paid her. It wouldn't be wise to correct him just yet. She let him have his laughs. After a minute, it could have been two for all she knew, she wasn't wearing a watch, and Anastasia cleared her throat.

"You were saying, sir?"

Stephen became quickly became serious again and cleared his throat too.

"I was thinking that you could work a few days out of the week, and give you night shifts once people get used to you. I don't know what was wrong with those people. Acting like a bunch of religious nuts." He paused. "It wouldn't hurt if you didn't show up as often."

Anastasia grinned to herself at the surprising luck.

"What a coincidence, sir. I was just about to ask you for a couple of days off."

"Really? You just started yesterday."

"I know, but I have issues that I have been currently working out. Remember?"

Then Stephen suddenly understood, remembering how the girl had to explain why much of her resume was left blank. He didn't understand at first, but he was never the kind of man to get interested in his employees lives so long as they worked hard. He rose from his chair. It creaked like an old barn door being swung open after falling into disuse.

"A bit of an odd predicament, wouldn't you say, girl? No memories of your life. I have to ask, how did you lose your memories?" Not that he really cared.

"I don't know. The Slovinov's found me in a snow storm. Before that, I remember nothing."

He shrugged his shoulders again with an insensitive air. "That Slovinov always finds a reason to help some poor bum on the streets. He's nearly dirt poor himself, yet he spends all his money on helping others. I have nothing against the man, but he can get annoying sometimes."

Anastasia clenched her fists at her side.

"Can I get back to work now?" That was the only thing she could say in front of him. There were other things she had in mind, however she couldn't say them. She had to pay the Slovinov's back for helping her. She intended to earn her keep.

Stephen reached inside his pants, pulling out a cigarette. He waved off with an impassive hand.

"Go on." He ordered as he tried to light the thing while it was stuck between his yellow teeth.

"Yes, sir."

* * *

Integra was escorted to the farthest booth in the restaurant with Walter at her side. Their guide and translator Dmitri sat in front of them. Initially, Integra was uncomfortable with her back to the entrance. It was unnerving actually. There was no way of telling if someone could burst through the doors and start attacking her. Walter was good, but he was getting on in years. How well would he stand up against a Russian assassin or worse the Beast of Leningrad? She held her tongue. She trusted him, and in any real danger, despite the sunlight of the strangely bright day, Alucard would come charging in with guns a blazing as long as his master was in mortal danger.

"Here comes the waitress." Dmitri announced.

A thin-looking red head in regular clothes marched up to their table menus in one hand and a notepad in the other. A pencil was tucked over her ear ready for use. She smiled politely, but not too much. The girl carried an air of restraint about her person. There was the sense of shyness and refrain coming off of her.

"What can I do for you?"

"My friends here," Dmitri gestured with his hands towards the people sitting across from him. "Aren't familiar with the Russian language. If you could tell me—"

"Do they speak English?" She asked suddenly.

"Yes, but—"

The waitress ignored him and turned her attention to his companions.

"You speak English, yes?"

"Yes," answered Walter. His answer and body language suddenly became stiff and rigid. Like he recognized or something.

The waitress's smile grew wider. Seemingly, she sighed with relief.

"You have no idea how good it is to actually speak English. Russian isn't exactly my first language."

The girl was really enthusiastic about seeing them. Her eyes became brighter and her whole appearance was much friendlier. She seemed more like a child finding a new friend, giddy and warm.

"I can tell," said Integra. "Where are you from?"

"U.S, I lived there with my parents for a while before I was deported."

"Why were you deported?"

The waitress paused as if to think.

"Me and my parents weren't legal citizens. When they died, I was booted back here. I spent some time there, but unfortunately, I don't remember how I got here exactly."

Intrigued, Integra continued, despite wanting food for her grumbling stomach. "You don't remember how you got here?"

The waitress shook her head. "I'm afraid not. I was found in the middle of a snow storm this January with little to no recollection of who I am. I figured I must have been American or from some other English speaking country. I've only recently become affluent with the Russian language. Terribly rude of me, I'm Anastasia and I'll be your waitress this afternoon."

Integra left the subject matter alone, however she was just a little surprised at the sudden change in the conversation. The waitress was so excited to meet English-speakers and carried on with intimate details of her life, only to suddenly derail and go on to another topic. There was something fishy going on.

"What do you recommend?"

"I'm not really sure. I've only started yesterday. Although, I have to warn you, anything with beef or pork has gone up in price."

"Why is that?" Integra asked.

"Some weirdo has started making off with meat from the super markets and butchers in the neighborhood. Of all the things they steal, they steal raw meat. There's a jewelry store two blocks away and plenty of banks to choose from. Raw meat!" She explained but with a less than serious tone. "What's wrong with people these days?"

"Perhaps they have a beastly appetite?" Walter asked.

He seemed to wait and watch for her reaction. His eyes were glued on her, waiting for something. For a second, a short moment or two, the waitress was lost in her thoughts.

"Well, whatever the reason, they're not helping any of the businesses around here. Now, I might understand if they're stealing to get food on the table, not that I condone it, but it hurts all of the local businesses that rely on that stuff to make ends meet." Anastasia answered with an almost self-righteous tone.

"We'll have fish then," said Integra.

"Well, Walter." Said Integra when they were far away from the diner as possible. She waited until Dmitri was well ahead of them, mentioning something about a phone call he had to make. "Is she it? The physical description given by Alucard is perfectly matched to hers. Do you think she's her?"

Walter glanced over his shoulder to find Dmitri down the street making a call at a phone booth.

"That was definitely her. Should we tell Mr. Uric?"

"No," she answered coldly. "I don't trust him. We'll make contact with her when she's alone; however do not involve Uric in anyway. I have a funny feeling about him and I don't like it."

Walter bowed. "Consider my lips sealed."

"And don't let Alucard find out either."

"That might be easier said than done, sir."

* * *

Midnight in a dream

_She found herself in the laboratory again. The walls were painted red and gray with blood and brain matter. The gray scrubs she wore were wet with the stuff and clung to her cold skin. The heater was shut down. She was so cold. _

_Anastasia looked down at her hands, slick with red gore. Then she looked around, finding nothing but corpses. Organs were strewn every which way. Her bare feet trudged through the filth and muck of human refuse. Death was heavy in the air. She breathed it in, but did not relish in it. Sure, they deserved what they had coming to them, but she wasn't a madman and to be fair, she didn't all of them. It just looked like it. _

_She waded through the bodies searching for an exit. This wasn't how it happened. But this was a dream. Who was she to argue with the events of that night? This was just her subconscious working. _

_Why would she dream of this? Now of all times too? _

_Anastasia questioned nothing. She made her way through the hallways, only to realize as she was walking that they were getting longer and longer. It seemed that every step she took, the walls and floor of the hallway stretched just a bit more. The facility was not as big as her dream claimed to be. Again, her subconscious was working out her problems. Whatever it had in mind, she didn't really have much choice but to go along with it. If it became too weird, she could just change it. It was _her_ dream after all. _

_The pads of her feet left bloody imprints wherever she went. Soon enough, the bodies began to disappear. The further she walked on, the fewer the corpses piled up on the floor. As she went on, the bodies became fewer and fewer still until there were one or two on either side. And then there weren't any all. Anastasia twisted around, but the bodies were still behind her. They were still lying on the floor, useless and decomposing. The hall continued on and on for what seemed like forever. She turned around again and kept going. She couldn't tell how long this hallway was; only that it was getting longer. _

_Bluish lights flickered on as she walked down the hall. Lamps with bluish tinted light bulbs dotted the walls of the corridor. These were not the lights she remembered in the laboratory. Anastasia was certain that those were white, not blue. The floors were not metal. _

_Stopping dead in her tracks, she smelled the air around her. Stale, cold, earthen, not the cold, metallic smell she was so used to. Yet, there was another scent lingering in the air that she smelled before. There was something familiar about this new scent. She ignored her animal instincts and followed the trail. The echoes of her feet were not metallic. Her feet touched down on solid stone. The echoes bounced off stone walls. This wasn't the laboratory anymore. _

_Just when she thought the hallway was never going to end, a door appeared from out of the darkness. Dark energy radiated from it. Now, she was aware of what was going on. _

"_You!" Anastasia ran for the door. _

_Curiosity left her and in its place was rage. Her clawed hands wrenched open the door. Lo and behold, who should she find? The mysterious stranger in red, looking oh so very smug on a throne and surrounded by blue lights and purple fog. _

"_You!" She roared, entering the large chamber like the big bad wolf, huffing and puffing with all her might. _

"_You came looking for me. Why would you be so surprised to find me here, in your subconscious?"_

_Anastasia threw her arms up wildly. _

"_I was most certainly not looking for you! I was minding my own business, and then you came into _my_ dream. Get out!"_

"_You're not the least bit curious," he sounded as arrogant as he looked. "Curious about why I'm here in your dreaming subconscious?"_

"_I couldn't care less," her fangs were sharpened and ready to tear out his throat when need be. At this point, she wasn't sure how much longer she could wait before charging him down and sinking her teeth into his jugular. _

"_You seem to have lost your saint-like patience I'm more familiar with. If memory serves me correctly, you were the most _humane _of monsters I have ever come across. Which begs the question, why did you slaughter those men in Leningrad in an uncharacteristic display of beastly hunger and rage? It's not like you. Not the Cosette I know." _

_Anastasia walked over to him, who sat on his throne directly in the middle of the chamber. _

"_I don't know who you are. I don't know how you think you know me, but it ends here. I don't know who I am, so what makes you think I'll trust anything you say? How am I supposed to know this isn't some kind of trap? Just how stupid do you think I am?" _

"_Then how would you like your memories back?"_

_She stopped in mid-step. "What?" _

_She sneered. He had to be bluffing. He was only trying to distract her so she would let her guard down. _

"_I can reach into your mind and pull out those memories for you. All you have to do is say yes."_

"_Yes to what exactly?" Anastasia didn't take another step. _

"_You have to let me drink your blood."_

_Silence. _

_She thought she heard her heart beat quicken. Hot blood was coursing through her body like a stallions stampeding across the plains. Her fangs pierced her gums; her own blood trickled down her throat. Claws cut into her palms. _

"_Blood is the currency of the soul, the tender of life. It is nothing more than the medium by which life is transacted. To drink blood is to take the entire being of a life unto oneself. Your memories are locked away, not missing. You just need an outside force to go in and unlock the doors which seal your true self deep within you. What do you say?" He extended a white gloved hand towards her. _

_She glared at him. _

"_I say you can go to hell."_

"_Then let me show you who you really are."_

_A mirror suddenly appeared at her left side. Anastasia faced it, but instead of seeing her own reflection, she saw an entirely different version of herself. One dressed in vintage clothes, hair whipping in the imaginary wind, and stained with blood, from her shoes to her gore drenched mouth. The mirror version of herself grinned a toothy smile revealing a set of fangs dyed pink with blood, two on top and two on the bottom. A gray and black scenery stood behind her, but she couldn't make out much except for a couple of burning buildings. _

'_We gladly feast on those who would subdue us.'_

Anastasia sprang from her mattress on the floor, head throbbing and heart pounding, sweat streaming down her face. She woke up swearing audibly. She gasped for breath.

"Anastasia?" Mikhail sat up in bed.

Her eyes adjusted to the dark room. She could see him rub his weary eye.

"I had a bad dream. Go back to sleep."


	6. Chapter 6

Dresden, Germany

1944

"_My mother raised a lady, not a savage."_

_Standing up at once, she wiped from her mouth the blood that colored her lips so beautifully._

_Alucard couldn't help but laugh. Turning her head towards him, she glared at him._

"_And what do you find so funny?"_

"_You," he answered so bluntly. "And that you feast on human flesh but have the table manners of a nobleman. How delightful."_

_She continued to glare at him silently for just a while longer before she decided that she had listened to him long enough. With the grace of a trained acrobat, the girl walked around the corpses she created. Gliding right past him, ignoring his existence entirely, she returned to the exact spot she had been standing in before the enemy fired. Alucard followed and watched her closely. The girl bent over in the rubble and dirt, her torn dress riding up in the back, giving him a generous view of her red painted thighs. He kicked aside a bullet casing with his foot. There was so much blood on the ground where she stood, but she was completely healed. There was nary a scratch on her body._

_When she stood up at full height, she was carrying a _violin case?

"_If you'll excuse me, I have important business to attend to. I have people to kill. Bodies to burn. Very important work I wish to return to."_

_She began walking away when he called out. Ignoring him, she went north towards the heart of the city. Using his vampire speed, he easily caught up with her. At first, the nameless girl was shocked; however this was quickly replaced with annoyance. He stood in the middle of her path and when she tried to walk around him, he stood in front of her, blocking her way._

_She sighed angrily. "I do not have time for these silly games, little girl. Just tell me what you want."_

_Alucard grinned at this. She had no idea that he was actually a man._

"_Give me your name."_

"_My...name?" She arched a critical brow, incredulous of him. "Why on earth would I give you my name?"_

"_Just tell me what you are called."_

"_Alright, fine." She stopped trying to walk around him and stood for a while. "My name is Cosette Joanna-Baptista Marguerite Chastel. Are you satisfied?"_

_He noted the high perception of herself and the air of nobility she spoke with. She must have come from a rich family to have a name like that._

_The girl named Cosette went around him as soon as he stopped moving. Still, he went after, chasing her almost. She took very long strides for a person of her stature. At full height, she couldn't be more than five feet and five inches. Incredibly short, and thin too. Her tattered clothes would be falling off by now or perhaps in any second. And with or without bullet holes, the yellow sundress was barely clinging onto her body for dear life. She was short, but had a very lithe body. Lean yet fit, willowy yet Junoesque. Despite being so thin, she had nice, toned curves, a flat stomach, and an ample sized chest. She walked around as if being covered in blood was an everyday sort of thing for her. Judging by her behavior, she seemed used to this sort of thing._

"_Is there any particular reason why you're following me?"_

"_I find you interesting."_

_In a flash, Alucard found himself pinned to the nearest building that hadn't been completely destroyed in the bombing. The brick stones behind him dug deeply into his back as she forced him against it. Cosette had superhuman strength. There weren't many who could say that they could lift him off his feet with just one arm. She held him up, high above her head so she could glare at him from below; so he could see perfectly from this new angle how irritated she was. Her dark eyes became black holes that could suck a mortal man's will to live right out of his soul. Her fangs, however, did not make the show. Her lips were pulled into a taut line._

"_Go home. I have no need of travelers sticking close to me." Said Cosette, her tone dull, but impatient._

"_A lone wolf on the prowl," he chuckled, showing off his fangs._

_His sharp teeth startled Cosette for sure this time, but rather than loosening her grip, her clawed hand tightened around him. The claws sank into his flesh; red blood stained his white coat._

"_You're not human either." She was a little less apprehensive of him now._

"_I'm surprised that you hadn't noticed before."_

"_I was a little preoccupied at the moment. Besides, my nose must be overloaded with the smell of blood."_

_She dropped him unceremoniously to the ground. Alucard landed stealthily on his feet._

"_And just what do you want of me? You must want something if you are still standing here. What is that you want?" Her impatience returned with a vengeance._

"_What makes you think I want something?"_

"_Because I know from experience that whenever people start following you, they usually want something."_

_Alucard nodded in agreement. "True, true. But it's not exactly, what _I _want. There is someone I'd like to introduce you to."_

_Naturally, she scoffed._

"_Oh really, my petite cherie?" Sarcasm could have literally rolled of her tongue. "And just who is this person you wish to introduce me to? How do I know that you are not working with the Germans?"_

"_Do I sound like I am allied with the Nazis?"_

_She paused to think. There was a moment of doubt in her eyes and on her face._

"_Well, no, but-"_

_He extended his hand towards her._

"_Then let me take you to my master."_

* * *

Alucard awakened from his nap as his coffin was jostled roughly around the van. They were headed northeast, to the national park located outside of Moscow. He figured it was just a couple hours away from sunset. The park in question was the third largest conservation center in the world. Almost half of it was blocked off from tourists. Its name in Russian literally meant 'Moose Island.' Large groups of the animal made the park their home. Big prey, large areas undisturbed by humans, a vast territory to hide. It was the perfect hunting ground. If she was anywhere in Russia near Moscow, this was the place.

Earlier

"We have a visual of the target, Sir Integra." One of their officers finally chimed in on the HAM radio.

Integra, Walter, and Alucard were crammed like sardines in the back of a black van.

Radio and audio equipment ran along one wall while there was room on the other to seat only two people comfortably. Integra strapped on the head-set, placing the small microphone near her mouth.

"What exactly is she doing?"

"It looks like she's heading to the...store actually." The officer replied. He sounded quite confused actually.

"The store?"

How very mundane for a monster. Then again, she was served a piece of cod fish by the same woman they were following.

"Yes, she appears to be wearing a black shirt and blue jeans. She has a backpack on her. She's, uh, entering the store now."

"Just what evil plan does she have, hm? There must be some kind of diabolical scheme." Alucard joked.

Integra gave him a sharp look. "Hush you."

They waited at least fifteen to twenty minutes, listening to static. Their officer came in on the radio a while later.

"Alright, she's left. She putting the contents into her backpack and heading towards the bus stop."

"Does she have some kind of map with her?" Integra asked into the microphone.

He paused. "Yes, yes. It looks like she's got something her hands. Let me get a closer look."

The officer put down his radio somewhere and fumbled around with a heavy object, probably his binoculars.

"Yeah, I got a visual. She's got a pamphlet. I can't read it though. It's in Russian, but it has a picture of a nature reserve or something."

Integra covered her microphone with her thumb, and turning to Walter ordered him to find all of the nearest nature reserves. She turned her attention back to the officer stationed as a look-out for their target.

"Very good, return to the temporary headquarters. We'll take it from here."

"Yes, sir." The radio was shut down.  
Removing the radio headset from her, Integra leaned back against the wall, wishing she could have a glass of wine in her hand, or a cigar. Either one at the moment would do. Too bad she was still underage.

Crossing her arms she asked with a sigh, "What do you suppose she plans to do way out in the woods?"

"A creature like her can't ignore her hunting instincts. Whether she remembers or not, her animal instincts have a remarkable impact on her thinking and behavior, even if it doesn't show. After having such a big meal in Leningrad, it was only a matter of time before she started feeling the need for fresher meat. Stolen meats from the butchers just won't cut it for extended amounts of time," Alucard explained.

He had the most unusual look on his face, and when Integra confronted him, he tried to feign a look of boredom.

"And how do you know about that?"

"I smelled it on her breath. She's been snaking on uncooked beef to sustain herself and keep her blood lust under control."

And before noon came, they were all headed out north-east, heading straight for the Losiny Ostrov National Park. It being spring, small groups of nature lovers were already flocking towards the park at the first signs of spring. The sun was bright and warm, making Alucard tug at the collar of his shirt.

"Do you think we stick out too much, Walter?" Asked Integra.

"Only a little, but you forget that we have a vampire who make others believe what he wants them to. If someone asks too many questions, we'll let him deal with them, humanely. Right, Alucard?"

"If you insist." He was off in his own little world by then. His eyes, though hidden by yellow-tinted sunglasses, were obviously staring off into the distance.

"What's the strategy then?" Alucard was barely listening.

"The best bet is to wait until night fall. She's smart. She would wait until the dead of night when most of the crowd had gone home, and most of the national park's employees having left too. In her current attire, she more likely blends in very well with those present now. I suspect that she is making her way around the trails, getting herself familiar with the territory. The park is known for its large population of moose. Plenty of meat." Walter noticed Alucard's lack of attention and filled her in instead.

The cell phone in his pocket chimed. Instantly, he pulled it out, checking the phone number attempting to call him.

"It appears that Mr. Uric wants to talk."

"What does he want?" Integra didn't try to hide her hatred of the man anymore.

"We'll soon find out," he pressed the receiver. "Hello, Mr. Uric. How may I help you?"

The other two watched silently as Walter talked with Mr. Uric. He nodded his head a few times and sometimes gave a vague answer such as 'I see' or 'indeed.' Towards the end of the conversation, Walter ended it, "I'll be sure to tell her immediately."

He quickly hung up his phone, and put it back in his pocket.

"It seems that we were mistaken. Mr. Uric was informed yesterday that there are, in fact, _living_ victims from the Leningrad laboratory. All of them female. The number of employees engaged in the work at Leningrad were two hundred, and when you add the general and his immediate staff, there were two hundred and three persons on the premises that night. Out of the two hundred employees ten were female nurses. Three called in sick that day, one was on maternity leave, another with a broken leg, and a sixth was snowed in. There were four women on the premises. They seemed to have given eye witness accounts of the events of that night, if you care to listen, Sir Integra."

"So what Alucard says is true then, she is a _humane _monster."

He nodded. "It appears so."

Integra shrugged her shoulders. "At the moment, it doesn't matter. At the very least, we know we can persuade her. She isn't some kind of animal, not fully anyway. We'll wait until twilight. We shouldn't try to corner her in broad daylight. If she doesn't know someone is on to her, she will soon, and when that happens—"

"Her instincts will take over. It is very unwise to corner an animal when it knows it's being hunted down. There's no telling what she could do." Alucard interrupted.

Integra turned her attention to him.

"You know her better than anyone else, Alucard. What do you think she will do if she is cornered?"

"With her memories gone, she is unpredictable. In the past, she had more control of herself, but here, when she cannot remember how to use control, she's a ticking bomb waiting to go off. Unless someone diffuses her first."

All three stood around, staring out at the forest. Branches rustled and cameras clicked; even so far away they could hear the sounds of eager tourists snapping pictures of every tree, rock, and bush they found. The clouds were few. The blue sky up above was clear and bright. It was neither hot nor cold. All of Russia seemed to be glad that the warm weather had returned so quickly after a brief respite of winter. Snow had melted so quickly that it was impossible to believe that not so long ago it covered the ground everywhere, enveloping the world in an icy blanket. Grass grew green and fresh; filling the earth with an herbal, earthy aroma. Pines, firs, and other native trees added their own perfumes. Never minding the noxious fumes of the swamps that dotted the area, it was good clean air; crisp and warm and bestowed upon the person the very gift of Mother Nature's untainted perfume. The smog and smoke of the city was left behind a while back.

Amid the trees, the grass, the people with their cameras and conversations, nature was unnaturally silent. There were no birds in the air and not even a fox or squirrel popped its head out of the woods. Sure, the crowd of people swarming in around their habitat might have something to do with it; however the forest was abnormally quiet. It was as if they senses his presence. Integra had never paid much attention to the affects Alucard might have had on the environment. They'd only been there for less than ten minutes. The animals wouldn't have noticed him so quickly. There was no sound when they arrived either. It was only then and there, at that precise moment when they all stopped talking that she was able to hear the silence. Nature had been well aware of a bigger predator stalking the grounds. It wasn't Alucard that the animals were afraid of.

* * *

The twilight was red, cloudless as the dying sun drifted into the deep horizons of the hills and cliffs. Golden-red light pierced through even the thickest of tree branches. Slowly the forest floor cooled under her bare feet. She sniffed the air. Most of the humans had left. There was barely a hand full lingering about the place, but they were far enough to make her feel less tense. This was the first time she would be able to _change._

Hiding her pack in the cranny of a tree, she proceeded to make certain preparations. She took off her sock and shoes. For a moment or two, Anastasia relaxed as soon as her feet touched the cool grassy ground underneath her. It was mildly pleasant. More pleasant, as one could suppose, because here, in the darkness of the night and the forest, the real beast could reveal itself. The earthen smell of the forest drove her senses into full throttle. The smell of the pines, firs, and oaks, the babbling of brooks, the very essence of this place woke up something deep inside of her. She closed her eyes to revel in the smell of it all.

Thick fur encroached in on her human flesh. She had to act quickly if she wanted to save her clothes. All of her clothes had to be thrown hastily to the ground. This transformation wasn't quite what movies portrayed. It was twice as painful. Her hands and feet stretched and curled under themselves, turning into giant paws with a sickening bone-crunching sound. Her spine was forced to extend her tail bone which would end in a bony-furry tail. The ears on the side of her head moved to the top as her mouth grew into a muzzle. Her nose became wet and cold; her eyes became bestial and red. Soft, pale human flesh was first replaced with a dog's hide, and from that sprung red fur until the whole of her body was covered in the stuff. Without a mirror, she had no idea what she looked like, but she was aware that her body was no longer human. Her very skeleton was reshaped like that of a dog's or a large wolf, a very large wolf. Her bones were like titanium now. Nothing would be able to break them.

Her new nose sniffed the air. Her senses were amplified, not that they weren't superhuman to be begin with. However, being in this form seemed to have an strengthening effect on all of her abilities and powers. With heightened senses, Anastasia smelled a weak moose about twenty kilometers west of her. A big, pink tongue protruded from her fuzzy muzzle, licking her black lips (IDK. Do dogs even have lips?) From her throat, Anastasia unleashed a guttural howl tilting her head back into the sky. Her howl into the night echoed to the farthest corners of the forest, and the slowly died in the darkness.

* * *

Integra stopped in her tracks just as she heard the sound of a wolf howling in the far distance.

"Alucard," she gripped her pistol tightly.

She cursed herself for panicking so quickly. Being head of the Hellsing Organization was a heavy load for someone as young as she was, but Integra had no desire to be a weak leader. Just thinking about what her father might have said or done made her sick with disgust for herself. She was no Arthur Hellsing.

"Relax, Master. There is nothing to fear. It's only our prey out for a midnight hunt."

"Are you sure it's her?"

He grinned. "Positive. I'd know that howl anywhere."

"Then let's keep going." She immediately took her hand away from her gun hidden underneath her coat.

* * *

Anastasia crept slowly in the shadows. Sunset faded into night, and the moon, its waxing crescent, shined white light on the forest floor. Moonlight pierced the small crevices between the branches sparingly. The noise and the sounds of the city was long forgotten, so too was that annoying light pollution resulting in this near dead silence around her. Her footsteps and the gentle clopping of the aged moose heading steadily towards the west were the only things that could be heard. The thing was weakened with age, but it still had plenty of muscle. Anastasia had to be careful of his antlers. Even if he was no longer a powerful buck, taking him on with those wide and sharp horns was a bit ambitious. The tawny antlers had a wide girth, sweeping up tiny, breakable branches from saplings and dropping them to the grassy floor. He stood like a proud elder, clambering up and down the rocky plains and hills with limited ease but still had the grace of a young bull. He was also. It was an easy task to keep track of him. One wrong move, and it could send her meal running into the forest. She was in no mood for a speed chase. Her stomach growled lowly as she slunk on her belly. She moved quickly and quietly.

Suddenly, the moose stopped. His big ears perked up. Anastasia held her breath and slunk a little further back into the dark coverage of the brush. Her keen eyes watched patiently as the moose looked all around him, but when he found nothing, he bent down and started nibbling on some bush leaves as a midnight snack. She could have breathed a sigh of relief, if she could. The only disadvantage of taking this body was that her human vocal cords were inoperable. She couldn't speak, not in a human tongue at least. More importantly, the moose might have heard her.

Speaking of which, she crept slowly out of the shadows. While he was distracted with food, Anastasia figured she could sneak up on him and go for his throat. He was dead ahead of her. It would be quick work to snap at his throat and sever the artery there.

Carefully, very carefully, Anastasia crept a little further then stopped. She proceeded again, and then stopped again. Her ears were pricked up. Her auditory senses were on high alert. Her nose couldn't smell anything but the moose near-by. His heart beat was normal. He didn't suspect a thing.

She crept forward until she was almost out of the bushes. The moose stopped chewing and his eyes darted around him. He swallowed and turned his head again. His heavy hooves began to walk away. That was when she pounced.

Anastasia sprang from the bushes, fangs and claws bared. The moose's unprotected throat was turned towards her when he was distracted by something else in the woods. Her hunger and insatiable lust for blood and gore prevented her from hearing anything else than the grumblings of her stomach and her pounding heart. Blood was rushing in her ears. Her nerves were jumpy and excitable. His blood flowed freely into her mouth, pushing her over the edge. She needed to kill him and eat him _now._ Her jaws clamped down on his jugular. He put up a fight; his own instincts willing him to live, and to do that he must fight. Anastasia clung to his hulking frame. Using her claws, she dug into his tough hide and clung onto him for dear life. His hooves beat against her shoulders to no avail. Slowly, she was draining him of all strength. Blood more heavily until it was dripping everywhere. Her muzzle was soon painted deep crimson with the stuff.

Finally, his legs caved beneath him. He landed with loud, ominous thud. Leaves rustled under his weight. The futile effort he made by kicking ceased. Her jaws unclenched around his throat when his heart beat stopped and he was good and dead.

Anastasia turned her attention to the torso of the body rather than start at the limbs. Her claws scratched away the tasteless hide and her teeth dug into the muscular flesh with much gusto. Ribs were torn asunder. The bones were scattered in every direction. She was looking for her favorite part. No matter what the species, Anastasia had a taste for the heart. Intestines were gross because they were involved in the digestion process, but they were the organs easiest to get her claws on. Lungs were all right, and livers she had to be careful with, especially if it belonged to a human. Alcohol content did actually affect her, but only slightly. Kidneys were good, however nothing compared to the heart, the sweetest of meats. After much effort in digging through tissue, muscle, and organs Anastasia found the beefy heart, a couple of sizes bigger than a human heart. Her fangs snipped away at the veins and arteries connected the heart. Once it was relatively free, she sunk her teeth in eagerly. She licked the soft muscle before tearing it apart chunk by chunk. Blood oozed down her muzzle. Drool pooled in the bloody mess, mixing with the blood. The fur around her throat and under her muzzle was covered in the offending mixture, and it dribbled off of her now-sticky fur in ghastly globs.

When there was nothing left of the heart, next came any organs she could sink her teeth into, which was pretty much everything but the kidneys. The inside of the carcass was an indescribable mess of organs and blood. There wasn't much left of the moose by the time she was done with him. It didn't take long before she was satisfied and full, for now.

* * *

In a small clearing, Alucard stooped low to the ground, placing his fingers in the dirt. He spotted discarded clothes lying in the dirt, fairly warm. This was unusual. He had never known Cosette, or as she went by currently, Anastasia, to strip down to nothing except only to use her more animal form. He'd seen it enough times to be able to spot her right away. Besides the clothes scattered randomly, as if she was in a hurry, was a tree and tucked away in the crevice under the roots lay a back pack. It matched the description of the one she had been wearing that same day. It confirmed his suspicions. She had left the area not very long ago. Her clothes, while remotely cool, still had a vague warmth to them. He assumed by the random direction of the clothes were tossed in, she was in the middle of transformation when she stripped down. She lingered in one particular spot in the ground by the tree, and then after her transformation, her footprints, or rather paw prints, headed west.

A rustling in the bushes behind him had Alucard stand up immediately. When Integra and Walter emerged from the brush, he didn't bother turning around.

"What happened here?" Walter noted the scattered garments on the forest floor.

"She's already transformed. We'll find her in the form of a dog-wolf hybrid. She won't be hard to miss. She has red fur and it's obvious that she isn't a normal animal. If memory serves right, her vocal cords are useless while she's in the shape of this creature. Her prints are headed west, but I believe that she'll return shortly."

Integra didn't like it when he assumed things or guessed. It wasn't a good quality to have in her opinion for a vampire to assume or guess without empirical evidence. So, she called him out on it.

"What makes you certain of that? For all we know, she'll return by morning."

He shook his head. "In the freedom here in the wilderness, her instincts will be allowed to return. Her body will want rest at sunrise, and she'll awaken at sunset. By nature, she is a nocturnal creature. Three months she's lived among humans, living and working alongside them in broad daylight. Here, she has the freedom to live by her true nature. And I know that she will return to this spot because I smell blood in the air. She just finished a meal. She will return to her camp site, sluggish from her full stomach."

"If we lie in wait, wouldn't she be able to smell us?"

"Then we should meet her half way, then," suggested Walter. "She still would have to go here, and if she is sluggish when can still catch her by surprise. By the time she would get here, she would have more strength. If we meet her part of the way, her movements would be slower. Less time to digest her food."

"Right then. Let's go," Integra followed the tracks using a handy flashlight in the dark with her servants following close behind.

Shining her flashlight directly over the trail of paw prints, they followed it for an hour until they came across a large clearing, flanked on one side by a swamp and reeds and on the other hilly forests climbing upwards into a small mountain range. The forest, has she expected, was silent. Trees rustled around them, but not a thing moved. It wouldn't be strange even though it was night if something more than a tree moved. There was nothing. Not a thing. Not even a mouse or an owl. The forest was trapped in a dead silence. Even a bear wouldn't venture anywhere tonight.

Up ahead, something moved. Bushes on the other side of the clearing shook as some kind of animal was making its way out of the forest. They braced themselves. This had to be her, the one they were looking for.

Sure enough, a great dog-shaped head poked out of the thicket. It had a powerful jaw, sticky with blood, and red fur standing on end underneath its lower jaw from some kind of slimy residue. The head was joined by equally powerful shoulders and great limbs. Its body was sleek like a greyhound, but had the muscular structure of a mastiff. Neither one of these breeds had long hair. This must have been where the wolf took over. The fur on the hybrid's body was thick and smooth. The color of the fur was bright red with a long streak of black running down from the top of her head to the tip of her tail. The ears standing atop her head and her tail which was so long that it grazed the grass was of wolfish nature as well. On all fours, Anastasia, arguing over her name was pointless now, in her animal form stood at least three and a half to four feet off the ground. She was much bigger than any dog or wolf for that matter. In her eyes, Integra saw blood. Anastasia growled, her hair standing on end. Her huge paws dug into the moist ground as she trudged across the clearing. Her pace was slow, agonizing even.

"Stop right there," Integra commanded. "I have no reason to kill you, but, please, don't give me a reason to. Just stay where you are."

Anastasia didn't heed her warning. She kept coming towards them, towards her. Alucard shift slightly and moved more towards Integra's side. She went back to the hybrid beast stalking ever closer, only to find that her hateful glare wasn't at them, but it was meant for Alucard. The dog's wild red eyes were glaring at him and him alone. She had no reason to fight the two mortals. She just wanted Alucard for some reason.

The vampire accepted Anastasia's silent challenge and he too marched out into the clearing.

"The star's are lovely, don't you agree, Cosette?"

Unable to use human vocabulary, Anastasia could only let out a deep guttural growl from her throat. She bared her fangs, snapping at the air, but then quickly shut her jaws again.

"That's right," he chuckled, "You don't go by that name any more. You're name is Anastasia now, isn't it? Like the Russian princess?"

She didn't growl this time. She was surprisingly quiet. They were nearing each other. Every time they took a step towards each other, it seemed that the forest's clearing was getting bigger and bigger. It felt to Integra that they would be waiting a life time before those two creatures of the night ever reached each other. The damp grass was utterly crushed beneath his feet and her paws. Moonlight seemed to dance against her black fur.

"Have you remembered anything of your past? My offer still stands."

Integra had been listening very closely.

"What are you talking about, Alucard? Just what have you offered her?" She yelled across the field.

"Her memories. If she allows me to drink her blood, I can unlock them for her. Whatever happened to her in the past has made her forget who she really is. She acknowledges that she's a monster, but that's not good enough for me. This is a pitiful shadow of the Hell Hound from over forty-five years ago. She's puppy compared to the girl, no, the woman I first met in Dresden."

Alucard removed his sunglasses and tucked them away in a pocket sewn on the inside of his duster. He grinned with his big shark teeth fully in view.

"How about you be a good girl and let me drink from you?"

Blood. There was so much blood. It was hard to see what happened because it happened so quickly. There was no way mortal eyes could have seen it. Anastasia didn't even become a red blur. It wasn't until when the dust had cleared that Integra and Walter were able to see just what happened. Alucard fired a few rounds from Casull, but she was too quick. He saw the attack long before they did, however he underestimated her sheer speed. In the next moment, her huge furry body hovered over him, her massive limbs pinning his arms to the ground and ruining his sleeves with dirt and mud that coated the bottom of her paws. Her razor sharp teeth were buried deep inside his neck. Her jaw unhinged until the whole of his throat was trapped within the confines of her muzzle. Those massive fangs dung deeper and deeper, ripping his flesh apart with just one tug.

She didn't stop there.

As painful as it was to watch, Integra looked on as Alucard's throat was torn to shreds and his flesh eaten. Anastasia chewed him up like a cheap dog toy until she had nearly decapitated him. His red blood painted his clothes, her mouth, and the green grass was black with blood.

She let out no howl of triumph or feasted on the rest of him. Anastasia merely raised her head, looked at the humans, and stepped away from the body. Her composure was...calm, relaxed. Her body was no longer rigid. She headed for them and Integra immediately went for her gun, pulling it out and aimed for the foul beast.

_I have no intention of killing you. Either of you. Take the body from here and leave me alone._

Integra clapped a hand over ear. She stared at the creature who _trotted _on by, and then disappeared into the forest.


End file.
